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Book 




Copyright If 


c- 

COPYHICl 



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I 











I 


THERE IS A TIDE 


By J. C. SNAITH 

THERE IS A TIDE 
ARAMINTA 

THE VAN ROON 
THE COUNCIL OF SEVEN 
THE ADVENTUROUS LADY 
THE UNDEFEATED 
THE SAILOR 
THE TIME SPIRIT 
THE COMING 
ANNE FEVERSHAM 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
Publishers New York 





I 

THERE IS A TIDE 


BY 

T. C. SNAITH/ 

J H „ ,, „ 

AUTHOR OF “THE VAN ROON,” “THE SAILOR, 
“THE UNDEFEATED,” ETC. 



D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

NEW YORK :: :: MCMXXIV 





COPYRIGHT, 1924, BY 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


m 12 ’24 


4 


C1/V777S30 



'H'tf *V* 


THERE IS A TIDE 


\ 




THERE IS A TIDE 


I 

QO this was England. 

^ A slight, pretty girl, in a corner seat of the boat 
express, was looking out of the window. To her every¬ 
thing was new and odd and a face curiously expressive 
was quick to register its emotions. 

All was on a scale so much less than the land from 
which she had come. The neatly parcelled acres some¬ 
how reminded her of Noah’s ark. Farmsteads trim 
and tiny; amusing hedgerows; the cattle and horses 
in the fields; the comic little villages, each with its 
moss-grown church tower peering through the damp 
mist, were so expected and yet so unnatural to the eye 
of a stranger that it was rather like a scene in a play. 

The girl was in the compartment alone. By her 
side was a “grip,” cheap looking, battered, with an air 
of travel; in the rack, above her head, was its fellow 
with a mackintosh and an umbrella. Like their owner, 
these articles had a subtle air of the second rate. Yet 
the girl herself, had she known how to wear her 
clothes, which were not bad of their kind, had certain 
points that seemed to promise a way out. 

For one thing, she was alive. Grey eyes, shrewd, 
keen and clear, looking out from under the brim of a 


2 


THERE IS A TIDE 


hat that had a touch of smartness, seemed to absorb 
every detail of this film reeled off at the rate of sixty 
miles an hour. It was like the movies, but less exciting. 
Not that the traveller craved excitement. This trip to 
an unknown land was far from being a pleasure jaunt. 

So intent were the grey eyes in absorbing a scene 
which was a good deal below expectation, that they 
were not content with the window against which her 
elbow pressed. Now and then they roved to the left 
across the narrow corridor, for a glimpse of the more 
distant view. Broadly speaking, this, too, was a wash¬ 
out. The mist, clammy and all-pervading, might have 
a lot to do with the general effect, but England, so far, 
was nothing to write home about. 

Disappointment already loomed in a receptive mind, 
when a man appeared in the corridor. He gazed 
through the glass at the compartment’s sole occupant; 
then he came in and closed the door carefully. With 
a quiet air he took a corner seat immediately facing the 
girl. She had a feeling that she had seen him before; 
but where or in what circumstances she could not say. 
Indeed, so vague was her memory that she soon decided 
it was a mere reaction to the man’s striking personality. 

He was not a man to forget. Big, handsome, mus¬ 
cular, clean and trim, he had all the snap of the smart 
New Yorker. Evidently he went to good tailors and 
he paid for dressing. 

He raised his ten-dollar Stetson with an air of class. 
“Miss Durrance!” 

The girl gave a start and coloured hotly. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


3 


“Don’t remember me, eh, Miss Durrance?” 

It was clear that she didn’t. But he remembered her, 
and the calm enforcement of his knowledge in a tone 
near the familiar flecked the girl’s cheek with a pic¬ 
turesque confusion. 

“Can’t say I do.” 

At the awkward answer his eyes twinkled into a 
slow, bright smile. “Myself, I never forget a face or a 
name.” 

The voice sounded oddly familiar, but she could not 
recall it. Not able to place this man, the effort to do 
so teased her forehead into a frown. 

“My job, you see, to remember folks.” 

She half resented the cool laugh. “Not sure I want 
to remember everybody.” 

“I’ll say not. Pikers good and plenty don’t want to 
remember me.” His tone was jocular, but there was 
something in it beyond mere banter. 

Marne Durrance realised suddenly that she had taken 
a strong dislike to the man opposite. He realised it, 
too. The breadth of his smile became aggressive. As 
her eyes met it they received a challenge which they 
were too proud to accept. She withdrew them quickly 
and looked ostentatiously away through the carriage 
window. 

Even the English scene, as much as was visible, 
could not divert her mind from a gentle snigger that 
stole upon her ear. Whoever this man was she hoped 
he would go. But he showed not a sign. Settling 
into the opposite corner, he sprawled his long legs, 


4 


THERE IS A TIDE 


brushing her knees as he did so, and finally crossed 
them. And then, past master of the art of making 
himself offensive, he began to hum softly, but in a way 
to keep in the middle of her consciousness. 

“Miss Durrance.” The voice was mild but half a 
sneer was in it. 

Somehow “it got her goat” to have his conversation 
thrust upon her after she had taken pains to let him 
know that she had no use for it. Anger made her 
eyes sparkle. “You quit,” she said. “Beat it.” 

Rude, certainly, but she meant it to be. But in that 
art, too, he had nothing to learn. “Now, then, Miss 
Durrance, come off it.” His laugh was hateful. 

One outstanding detail of the compartment there 
was, which the sharp-eyed traveller had already noted. 
A metal disc fixed below the luggage rack was within 
reach. It was adorned by the words, “To communicate 
with the Attendant, pull the handle.” 

On the spur of the moment she half turned and 
raised her hand. But the voice of the man opposite 
grew instantly so full of menace that she felt a little 
frightened. 

“Can that, Miss Durrance, or I’ll have to make it 
hot for you.” 


II 



k HE force of the threat made the girl withdraw her 


A hand. She met the laugh which followed with a 
look of defiance, but she had not art nor cleverness 
enough to conceal the fact that she was rattled. Her 
cheeks grew scarlet. Some very white and even teeth 
bit savagely into her lower lip. 

The man, watching narrowly, was obviously pleased 
with the effect. 

“Got me now, hey, Miss Durrance?” 

“I don’t know who you are,” was the answer of 
Miss Durrance. A brave and steady answer it was. 
“And I don’t want to know anyway.” 

The look in the girl’s eyes, the note in her voice, 
appeared sharply to recall the man opposite to a sense 
of his position. After all, it would not do to carry 
the thing too far. It was as if he suddenly remembered 
that in an especial degree he was a guardian of the 
public interest. When he spoke again his voice had 
consideration, even a certain kindness. 

“I’m one of Tillotson’s men.” 

Already her startled mind had flown to that con¬ 
clusion. But neither the man’s change of tone nor her 
own insight softened the steely hostility of her eyes. 
She lifted a fighting chin to rake him with a glance of 


5 


6 THERE IS A TIDE 

grey fire. “I’m a very respectable girl.” The note 
was deeper than she had touched yet. “I don’t know 
you an’ I don’t want to know you. Cops are no class 
anyway.” 

Detective Addelsee, an eminent member of a highly 
specialised calling, was a long way from being a fool. 
He was growing a bit annoyed with himself for his 
lack of diplomacy. In spite of the girl’s insolence 
there was something about her that he respected. And, 
what was just as important, he respected human nature. 

He decided to remove the bad impression he had 
made. “Got in wrong in New York, hey? Over here, 
ain’t you, to try and change the luck ?” His voice was 
honey now. Its only reward was grim silence. 

“Know folks this side?” 

The girl looked at Detective Addelsee as if he were 
dirt. She curled her lip and shook a scornful head. 

“Then you better watch your step. London crawls 
with slick ducks. All sorts, all nations. Up to every 
game. A bad place, London.” 

“If it’s worsen New York, it must be,” conceded 
Miss Durrance. 

“Capital of a free country. Every kind of cag- 
handed dago lies around loose in London. No place 
for a lone girl. What’s the stuff you goin’ to pull?” 

“That’s my affair.” 

Detective Addelsee smiled. He had caught a tartar. 
But he secretly liked the way she gave it him back. 
Sand always appealed to him. 

“Well, I wish you the best, Miss Durrance.” The 


THERE IS A TIDE 


7 


voice was official, yet kindness came uppermost. “We’ve 
nothing against you in New York; but we might have 
had. You got in with a crooked push. Sorry to have 
to run you in, but findin’ you on the premises and callin’ 
yourself the old Haunt’s secretary—she done two goes 
of time already—how was we to know you were on the 
level?” 

Detective Addelsee meant well, but this display of 
tact hardly met the case. The grey eyes looked straight 
through him. He laughed. Serve him right for 
being clumsy. A regular little hell cat, but he admired 
her. Most girls of her kind would have been scared 
lb death; he half suspected Miss Durrance was; but she 
would have died sooner than let him know it. 

He liked the cut of her so much that he felt he must 
try to 'fthprove the acquaintance or at least to soften a 
bad impression. It was a shame to rag her, because to 
the expert eye she had a look of being up against it. 
But her pride, her grit, lured him on. 

“What you goin’ into, Miss Durrance, in this bum 
island? The movies?” 

“No, I ain’t, Fatty Arbuckle.” 

The answer was pat as your hat. Detective Ad¬ 
delsee chuckled. 

“Make good on the fillum, a girl of your looks and 
style.” 

She eyed him with cool scorn from under the brim 
of her hat. “What’s a cheap guy like you know about 
looks and style?” 

Her drawl could only have come from one place on 


8 


THERE IS A TIDE 


earth, yet each little word had a kick in it quick and 
vicious, as if from the hind leg of a mule. Detective 
Addelsee felt this live child of the Middle West had 
had old Ned for a sire. 

He decided now that only one course would be safe. 
That course was silence. But he had not been so 
amused in years. The trained professional memory at 
once recalled the circumstance of their previous meet¬ 
ing. During a raid on the apartment of an old harpy 
in the neighbourhood of Madison Avenue, who min¬ 
gled crystal-gazing and fortune-telling with other 
illegal practices, this girl had been found seated at a 
typewriter. Investigation proved, however, that she 
had only held her job a fortnight, and that in the first 
place her association with such a dangerous person was 
due to an advertisement she had incautiously answered. 
Marne Durranee had no difficulty in satisfying the 
police that she was in total ignorance of the character 
and history of the notorious Cassandra, alias Zeno, 
alias Madame Bretsky. All the same the law took pains 
to impress on the unlucky stenographer that her escape 
had been narrow. In future she must be more discreet. 
Innocence as great as hers was apt to incur heavy pen¬ 
alties in such a city as New York. 

This episode, as Detective Addelsee was shrewd 
enough to suspect, had shaken Miss Durrance to her 
foundations. She was undoubtedly a very respectable 
girl, the daughter of a simple Iowa farmer, and she 
had come East to try her luck. Having made a bad 
break at the start of her career she had decided to seek 


THERE IS A TIDE 


9 


fortune elsewhere. As William R. Addelsee sat gazing 
at that fighting profile out of the corner of his left eye, 
all^that he knew about the girl passed in review order 
through a well-regulated mind. His had been the job 
of running her in; and*fcf setting her free with a cau¬ 
tion. He had caught sight of her again as she left the 
second-class deck of the Sidonia; he had seen her 
board the London train. She had the sort of person¬ 
ality not easy to forget. He was interested in this girl 
for her own sake; but the effort to get into conversation 
was having no success. The plain truth was, that as 
far as Miss Durrance was concerned William R. Addel¬ 
see was in the discard. 

Man of the world, he was amused by her attitude. 
And he admired her grit. Moreover, he wished her 
well. That, however, was not easy to convey. 

He tried the dulcet and disarming. “You see, Miss 
Durrance, there’s a bunch of jewel thieves I’m lookin’ 
for. Scotland Yard has rounded up several. I expect 
we’ll soon fix the hull circus.” 

Miss Durrance, with glacial eye, continued to gaze 
upon the English scene. “The frozen mit” with a 
vengeance. Jewel thieves, Scotland Yard, even the 
brightest of Tillotson’s Agency, haloed with romance 
for a normal girl, were cutting no ice for the moment. 
Her pride had been wounded and Detective Addelsee 
had now to foot the bill. 

“You can quit.” A fierce eye pinned him like an 
arrow. “Cops don’t interest me nothing.” 

Silence again. The position was a little humiliating 


IO 


THERE IS A TIDE 


for a man of the world. But this charming spitfire 
intrigued him. Such a you-be-damnedness quite took 
the fancy of William R. And the simple independence 
touched his sense of chivalry. 

“If I can help you any I’ll be glad,” he said, humble 
as pie, yet adroitly raising a hand to hide the laugh 
in his eyes. 

Said Miss Spitfire: “You can beat it. That’ll help 
me considerable.” 

The entrance at this moment of a very small and 
very polite boy in a strangely bright and extremely tight 
suit of livery was most opportune. Miss Durrance, 
who had a fixed determination to see, mark and learn 
as much as she could in the shortest time possible, was 
taken at once by this new kind of “bell-hop.” 

“Corfee, miss?” 

The fair traveller ordered coffee. 

Under cover of this diversion William R. suddenly 
rose. It was the best chance he was likely to get of 
extricating himself with any sort of dignity from a 
position which every second grew worse. Nothing 
doing with this girl, and it was hardly fair to bait her. 

As Detective Addelsee, on the heels of the departing 
boy, moved towards the corridor, he was guilty of one 
more false step. For he looked back and said: “Good¬ 
bye, Miss Durrance, an’ good luck. Be careful this 
time to get in on the level. But I’ll say London is a 
tough burg. If any time I can help you any, my name’s 
Addelsee.” He had the temerity to open a gold cigar 
case and produce his card. “Scotland Yard, White- 


THERE IS A TIDE 


ii 


hall, ’ll get me pro tem.” As concrete evidence of good 
will, Detective Addelsee had the further temerity to 
write his address upon the card and then with a bland 
smile to hand it to Miss Durrance. 

It was asking for trouble. William R. Addelsee duly 
received a full ration. Miss Durrance tore the card 
across. Then she coolly lowered the window and flung 
out the pieces. “Beat it.” Her face was crimson, her 
eye ruthless. “And thank you for nix. Cops are no 
class at all, cops aren’t.” 

With a little sigh that was offset by a humorous 
eye, Detective Addelsee raised the ten-dollar Stetson 
and followed the bell-boy along the corridor. 


Ill 


*‘QAY, Jackie Coogan, there’s no sugar.” 

^ The polite boy in the button suit gazed at Miss 
Durrance with mild surprise. New stars constantly 
swam into his ken. Few had better opportunities than 
he of testing the simple truth that all sorts of people 
are needed to make a world. It was this, no doubt, 
which gave depth to his character. Nothing could have 
exceeded the grace of his regret for the sugar’s omis¬ 
sion and of his promise to bring some. 

“That kid’s fierce,” was the mental comment of the 
traveller to the English scene as this by-product gently 
closed the door upon her. She had a very keen and 
lively sense of things and the air and manner of the 
button suit’s wearer gave it a jolt. 

Marne Durrance had certain preconceived ideas about 
the land she had come to and the odd folks who peopled 
it, derived in the main from exquisitely humorous 
writers, usually with Irish names, in her favourite 
magazines. The British, if not given to mirth them¬ 
selves, were yet the cause of mirth in others. An 
obvious back number, the land of George Washington’s 
forebears was a mass of weary pomposities; it took 
itself so seriously that it couldn’t raise a smile to save 
its soul. Up till now she had not had much opportu- 
12 


THERE IS A TIDE 


l 3 


nity of judging it, but the funny little toy of a train 
in which she was puffing along to London, the tame 
scenery—what she could see of it—through which it 
passed, the little cubbyhole in which she sat alone, and 
the comic child with oiled hair and the manner of a 
senator who ministered to her wants, all seemed to fit 
neatly into the theory. 

Buttons came back with two small pieces of sugar on 
a large tray. 

“Say, son, does it hurt you any to look that way?” 

“Beg your pardon, moddam?” 

“All right, Mr. Asquith. On’y my ignorance. You 
can beat it.” 

“Thank you, moddam.” Gently and gravely, without 
a ghost of a smile, the polite child went. 

It was well for Marne Durrance that she had these 
resources within herself. For at the moment she was 
not on good terms with life. The railway company’s 
cafe au lait, for which it had the nerve to charge a 
quarter, allowing for the rate of exchange, was not very 
stimulating either. And Detective Addelsee had shaken 
her considerably. It surely looked as if the bad luck 
which had dogged her ever since she left Cowbam, 
Iowa, six months ago was going to cling. 

It was just six months ago that Marne Durrance had 
heard the call of ambition in rather strange circum¬ 
stances. At that time she was a stenographer, 
earning a few dollars a week, in the office of the Cow- 
barn Independent. But her Aunt Lou, a sister of her 


14 


THERE IS A TIDE 


long dead mother, having left her a legacy of two 
thousand dollars, she at once turned her face east. 

These providential dollars must be invested in seeing 
life. And as native wit had carried her already from 
a farm kitchen to a stenographer’s chair, she saw no 
reason why, with money in her purse, that priceless 
quality should not take her much further. Anyhow it 
should not be for lack of trying. 

She would see life. And in moments of optimism", 
of which at the start she had many, she went on to 
describe what she saw. The seeing, alas, proved easier 
than the writing; or rather the seeing and the writing 
were easier than to persuade editors “to fall” for her 
copy. Too many were at the game in the bright city 
of New York - wisenheimers of both sexes, who instead 
of coming via Poppa’s pig-farm had been through 
College. 

There was the rub. At Cowbarn the folks didn’t 
set much store by College. But New York was differ¬ 
ent. 

She was a shrewd girl and it did not take long for 
her to realise that she was some way behind the game. 
Human nature was always human nature, when you 
came down to cases, but there was no denying that she 
lacked experience. Back of everything was faith in 
herself, but so wide was the gulf between Cowbarn, 
Iowa, and the banks of the Hudson that no amount of 
faith could bridge it. 

New York had laughed at her, scorned her, humili¬ 
ated her deeply and cruelly in more ways than one. She 


THERE IS A TIDE 


15 


had been advised by newspaper men and also by police 
officers, professing a disinterested care for rustic 
ignorance playing a lone hand, to go back to dad and 
the pigs. These experts were confident that Miss Mame 
Durrance would get no good of New York. 

However, they didn’t know quite so much about 
Mame Durrance as she knew about herself. She might 
be down but she was not out. New York had no use 
.or her, but there were other places on the map. For 
instance, there was London. No, not London, Ontario. 
As far as the big stuff was concerned, that burg was in 
the Cowbarn class. London, England, was the spot. 
She heard that London, England, offered scope for 
ambition. A few years in Europe might even stop the 
gaps in her education. It would be like putting herself 
through College. Hers was a forward-looking mind. 
And as with set lips and ten fingers on a purse, which 
in spite of Aunt Lou’s legacy, was not so heavy as her 
heart, she put off in the Sidonia, she determinedly 
envisaged the future return of Mame Durrance to the 
land of her fathers with at least three trunks of real 
Paris frocks and an English accent. New York would 
laugh then at the little mucker on the other side of 
its mouth. 

Conflicting opinions had been expressed to Miss 
Durrance about London. But in her small circle only 
one was able to speak from first-hand knowledge. 
Paula Wyse Ling had been there. The others spoke 
from hearsay, and in one or two cases with a little 
help from the imagination. But Paula Ling had lived 


i6 


THERE IS A TIDE 


in London a year. This rising columnist, who in the 
view of Mame was “the goods,” had taken pains to 
impress the traveller with the stark truth that in the 
Strand ten cents went no further than they did on 
Broadway. 

Miss Ling had provided the adventurous Mame with 
the address of a cheap but respectable boarding house 
in Bloomsbury, where she had stayed herself, where, 
all things considered, she had received value for her 
money, and could conscientiously recommend. This 
enterprising girl had also given the traveller a letter of 
introduction to the editor of High Life, a weekly jour¬ 
nal with an address in Fleet Street, whose ostensible 
business was to record the doings and sayings of 
Society with a large S. 

As the train sped on the practical Mame began to 
arrange certain things in her mind. First she opened 
the small bag which was attached to her wrist, to make 
sure that the sinews of war were really there; and then, 
in spite of having made all sorts of calculations already, 
she did one more sum in her head to find out just how 
far Aunt Lou’s legacy would carry her. Then she 
searched for the address of Miss Ling’s boarding house 
and found it written on an envelope: Beau Sejour, 
56 Carvell Street, Bloomsbury, London, W. C. Sole 
Proprietress Miss Aimee Valance. Terms en pension. 

Somehow the information in its fulness and dignity 
was quite reassuring. Next the pilgrim reverently 
fingered the sealed envelope which bore the address: 
Walter Waterson, Esq., c/o High Life, 9 Tun Court, 


THERE IS A TIDE 


17 


Fleet Street, London, E. C. That was reassuring too. 
Finally she took in her fingers her own private card 
and they thrilled as she did so. 

Her own private card, which had been engraved just 
before she had sailed in the Sidonia, had a cosmopoli¬ 
tan air. The world was going to be impressed by it. 


Miss Amethyst Du Rance 

New York City, U. S. A. 
European Correspondent 

Cowbarn Independent 


The good old Independent looked quite class tucked 
away in the left-hand corner. But it would have raised 
a sure smile in New York. That city of four-flushers 
had taken a lot of pains to impress upon her that Cow- 
barn, Iowa, was at best a one-horse burg. Perhaps 
London might not be quite so good at geography. And 
it might not be quite so set up with itself, although as 
far as Miss Durrance could learn that was a subject 
upon which opinion varied. 

However, there it was. European Correspondent, 
Cowbarn Independent. At the sight of the magic 
words the thoughts of Marne Durrance went rather 
wistfully back to the hard and dull and uncomfortable 
place in which she had been born and reared. After 
all it was home. And even if she was ready to die 



i8 


THERE IS A TIDE 


rather than go back to live there for keeps, it was noth¬ 
ing to be ashamed of, for there was no place like it. 

The card looked so well in the hand of Mame that 
she decided to mail one as soon as she reached London, 
to Elmer P. Dobree, the young and aspiring editor of 
the Cowbarn Independent. Good old Elmer P.! It 
would simply tickle him to pieces. But it would show 
him the stuff she was made of. He had tried to dis¬ 
suade her from quitting the safe anchorage of her stool 
in the Independent office, and when unable to do so, 
like the sport he was, had told her to send along a 
weekly letter of New York news, and if able to print 
it he would pay the top rate of four dollars a thousand 
words. The Cowbarn Independent was an influential 
journal, but it had never paid President Harding more 
than four dollars a thousand words. 

Mame took the editor at his word. Sometimes her 
stuff was printed. Sometimes it wasn’t. But Elmer 
P.’s kindly interest in her had continued. She had been 
encouraged to let him know that she was going to 
Europe and that it would help her considerably if she 
could depend on his keeping a corner for her London 
Impressions which she would mail every Friday. 
Elmer P., before all things the man of affairs and the 
cautious editor, would not be drawn into a rash promise, 
but he would do his best. To this end he gave a bit 
of advice. Let her see to it that the doggone British¬ 
ers didn’t take the pep out of her style. 

So far Miss Durranee had not realised that she had 
a style. Anyhow she had never aspired to one. She 


THERE IS A TIDE 


19 


set down what she saw and heard and read in words 
that came just naturally. And she had a kind of hunch 
that the slick-a-lick New Yorkers always found some¬ 
thing funny in the way those words came. 

The Northwestern express steamed at last into Eus- 
ton and Marne found herself up against the raw reality 
of London. From Crewe on the fog had been getting 
more and more business-like. By the time the metrop¬ 
olis was reached a very fair imitation of a “London 
particular” was on the platform to receive her. It was 
almost the famous “pea-soup” variety, but not quite, 
which was just as well for Miss Durrance. All traffic 
would have been at a standstill had she been greeted 
by that luxury and the troubles of a stranger in a land 
of strangers increased a hundred-fold. Even as it 
was, for one used to clear skies the fog was pretty 
thick, yet the seasoned Cockney would have described 
it as not a bad day for the time of year. 

A Cockney of that genus, in the person of a luggage 
porter, opened the carriage door. He took charge of 
Miss Durrance’s gear; also he took charge of Miss 
Durrance. Slow he was, very slow, to her way of 
thinking. As yet the alert traveller had not got the 
tempo of this nation of mossbacks; but the porter, if 
not exactly an Ariel, was sure as a rock. An earth¬ 
quake or a landslide would not have hurried him and 
Marne had the wisdom not to try. 

He got her trunk out of the van and put it on a taxi. 
She gave the address, 56 Carvell Street, Bloomsbury, in 
a tone of crisp importance; the taximan, who vied with 


20 


THERE IS A TIDE 


the porter in deference, touched his cap and off they 
trundled into the fog. For London it was really noth¬ 
ing to speak of, but the acrid vapour caused the eyes 
of Mame to sting and her throat to tickle; and the 
combination of raw air, grimy buildings, and an end¬ 
less mud-churning sea of vehicles, slow-moving and 
enormous in their bulk and mass, somehow filled her 
with an odd depression. 

In spite of all checks to progress it was not long 
before they reached Car veil Street. The taxi stopped 
at 56. Mame sprang out and boldly attacked six bleak 
stone steps, at the top of which was a door in sore need 
of paint. Her ring was answered by a comic sort of 
hired girl, with cap and apron complete. When Mame 
asked if she might see Miss Valance she was very 
politely invited to come in. 

As Mame went in she made a mental note that her 
first impression must record the civility of these Lon¬ 
doners. Somehow it had a quality riper and mellower 
than any brand she had met with on her native conti¬ 
nent. Whether it came from the heart or was merely 
a part of the day’s work of a people addicted to “frills” 
or just a candid admission of the superiority of the 
race to which Mame herself belonged, must be left to 
the future to determine; but so far the critic was 
pleased with the universal Cockney politeness and she 
hoped it would pan out as good as it seemed. 

The observer had not time to do justice to the small 
gas-heated anteroom into which she was shown before 
she was joined by the lady of the house. Miss Valance 


THERE IS A TIDE 


21 


was a replica of all the Cockney landladies that ever 
were. Thin, angular, severe, a false front and an invin¬ 
cible red tip to a freely powdered nose masked immense 
reserves of grim respectability. In the view of Miss 
Durranee she was “a regular he-one.” All the same the 
pilgrim declined to be impressed by Miss Valance. It 
was part of her creed to be impressed by nothing that 
wore skirts. But had an exception been allowed to this 
article of faith Miss Valance would sure have put one 
over on her. 

A disappointment was in store. Beau Sejour was 
full. Miss Valance was awfully sorry but she had no 
vacancy. This was a blow. Marne’s experience, brief 
though it was, had been chequered; and she had duly 
impressed upon herself that if she adventured as far as 
London, England, she must keep her eyes skinned, for 
like every cosmopolitan city it was a natural home of 
the crook. Therefore she informed Miss Valance that 
she was a very respectable girl and wasn’t going to 
take a chance on any old boarding house. 

From the peak of her own respectability the chate¬ 
laine of Beau Sejour applauded Marne’s wisdom. She 
was helpful besides. Round the corner in Montacute 
Square was an establishment she could recommend. It 
was called Fotheringay House and was kept by a lady 
of the name of Toogood and Miss Valance had heard 
her well spoken of. She might have a room to let. 
Anyhow there would be no harm in trying Mrs. Too¬ 
good. 

Marne felt let down. It was clear from the manner 


22 


THERE IS A TIDE 


of Miss Valance that she was not very hopeful that 
the worthy Mrs. Toogood would be able to take her 
in. However, Mame warmly thanked Miss Valance 
for her helpfulness; and then buttoning up her coat 
she made a resolute dive through a passage dark and 
narrow towards the foggy street. 

In the very act of doing so, a pang keen as the blade 
of a knife drove through Mame. Her luggage! All 
she had in the world had been left outside in the taxi. 
The villainous looking guy who had fawned on her 
with a wolf’s smile as he had taken her trunk, her grip, 
her mackintosh, her umbrella and herself aboard his 
machine, had only to trundle away into the fog and she 
would be left high and dry with the clothes she stood 
up in. So sharp was the thought that Mame nearly 
groaned aloud. A fool trick to take a chance of that 
kind in a foreign city. 

Coming over in the Sidonia she had read in the New 
York Herald of a girl who had just arrived in Paris 
having done what she had just done; and the girl had 
never seen her luggage again. And here was Mame 
Durrance, fed to the teeth with wise resolutions, walk¬ 
ing into a trap with open eyes! 

However, the taxi stood by the kerb just as she had 
left it, with her box strapped on to the front. Two- 
pences were being registered by the meter at an alarm¬ 
ing rate while the driver was placidly dozing. But the 
relief of Miss Durrance was considerable as she jumped 
in, after ordering Jehu, who was much less of a bandit 


THERE IS A TIDE 


23 

than he looked, to trek round the corner into Montacute 
Square as far as Fotheringay House. 

La pension Toogood was curiously like Beau Sejour, 
except that it had five stone steps instead of six and 
that one of its area railings was missing. For the rest 
it was able to muster a similar air of tired respectability. 
Painted over the fanlight of the front door, in letters 
that once had been white, was the historical name Foth¬ 
eringay House, yet even this did not cause the mansion 
to look inspiring. But Marne, obsessed by the knowl¬ 
edge that she was literally burning money, did not 
pause to study details. 

As she sprang out of the taxi and ran up the steps 
of Fotheringay House she hoped that this time she 
would meet better luck. 

A hired girl, the twin in every detail of the slave 
of Beau Sejour, opened the door. Miss Durrance was 
in a hurry, but she could not help being amused and 
interested. It was her attitude to life to be amused 
and interested; but then who would not have been 
with such an apron and such a cap, with such prim 
politeness, with such a way of speaking? Evidently 
the Britishers had standardised the hired girl. She 
might have been a flivver or a motor cycle. 

The theory applied with equal force to the London 
landlady. Mrs. Toogood was Miss Valance over again. 
But if anything, she was raised to a slightly higher 
power. The same dignity, the same wariness, the same 
ironclad gentility; but she was a widow with two chil¬ 
dren, whereas Miss Valance was a spinster with none. 


24 


THERE IS A TIDE 


Her attributes, therefore, were fuller and firmer, a little 
more clearly defined. Marne did not make the compari¬ 
son, but it was the difference between the Barbizon 
school and Picasso or Augustus John. 

With the taxi outside ticking off twopences with 
quiet fury Marne felt she was getting down to the 
real meaning of her favourite maxim, Time is Money. 
She cut out, therefore, all preliminaries. Without 
troubling to remark that it was a nice day, as for Lon¬ 
don it was no doubt, she began in a tone of strict 
business, spot cash only. “Say, ma’am, can you let 
me a hall bedroom?” 

From the chill mountain height of her disdain the 
landlady gave Marne a once-over. No matter what 
the case with her visitor she was in no hurry. The 
chatelaine of Fotheringay House had never heard of 
a hall bedroom. Her icy gaze travelled from Marne’s 
rather crushed hat via her seal plush coat to her tar¬ 
nished rubbers with a quietly stiffening reserve. Clearly 
a foreigner. Picturesque creatures no doubt. The 
late Mr. Toogood was partial to them, but he, though 
of pure English blood, was of a romantic mind and an 
Italian warehouseman. His widow preferred to order 
her life on the sound old plan of giving a wide berth 
to aliens. 

Christian people never knew quite where they were 
with aliens. Some of them paid, some of them didn’t. 
Mrs. Toogood’s experience had been mainly among 
the latter. And in her view, this sharp-eyed slip of 
a girl who asked for something outlandish in an accent 


THERE IS A TIDE 


25 

you could cut with a knife, had the look and air of 
the didn’t. 

It might have been racial prejudice, but that was the 
landlady’s feeling. 

“From the Isle of Man, I presume/’ said Mrs. Too- 
good loftily. Although she was the widow of an 
Italian warehouseman she was not in the least imagi¬ 
native. The Isle of Man was her Ultima Thule, the 
farthest eagle flight of which her mind was capable. 

Marne knew as much about the Isle of Man as the 
landlady knew about a hall bedroom. But she smiled 
broadly. 

“I’m from New York.” Her voice went up a little 
as she made that damaging admission. For the admis¬ 
sion was damaging. 

“That would be America, would it not?” The grow¬ 
ing gloom of the landlady began to verge upon melan¬ 
cholia. 

Marne allowed that it would be. 

The landlady sniffed. Marne knew by that sniff that 
the home of her fathers was in the discard. 

Mrs. Toogood, if not a travelled woman, or a widely 
read or highly informed, was yet an educated one. She 
had been educated by the movies. That form of hyper¬ 
culture which aims to instruct as well as to amuse and 
delights to draw together the nations of the earth had 
put this good lady wise on the subject of America. 

Every Saturday afternoon it was the custom of a 
modern and progressive mother to take her twin sons, 
setat. nine years and two months, Horatio Nelson Too- 


26 


THERE IS A TIDE 


good and Victor Emanuel Toogood by name—the 
Italian warehouseman had insisted on the Victor Eman¬ 
uel in honour of his calling—to the Britannia Picture 
Palace in the Euston Road. In that centre of light they 
had learned that America was not quite what she gave 
herself out to be. God’s Own Country was a truly 
wicked place. The crook, the vamp, the dope-fiend, the 
cattle-rustler, the bootlegger, the forger, the slick duck, 
the run amok quick shooter, the holder-up of mails 
was as thick on the floor of those United States as the 
white and yellow crocus in a Thames meadow in the 
middle of February. And as London is to the virtuous 
island of Britain, so is New York to the infamous land 
of the free. 

The English are a moral race. They honestly be¬ 
lieve their morals are purer than any upon the wide 
earth. That is why the Pictures are not only educa¬ 
tional, but popular. They exhibit Cousin Yank in the 
buff. And even if the sight embarrasses the pious 
cheek of Euston Road, N. W., it is pleasant sometimes 
to spare a blush for one’s rich relations. 

In the dour eye that regarded Marne was sorrow. 
The girl looked harmless even if her speech was odd. 
But appearances are not things to bank on* at least 
in Mrs. Toogood’s experience. 

“Any old box’ll do for me, so long as it’s clean and 
ain’t beyond my wad.” 

“I have a small room on the top floor.” The land¬ 
lady was guarded. It was next the servants and very 


THERE IS A TIDE 


27 

difficult to let; the p.g.’s of Fotheringay House were 
persons of clearly defined social status. 

Mame welcomed with enthusiasm the prospect of a 
small room on the top floor. The landlady repeated 
the once-over without enthusiasm. Should she? Or 
should she not? An outlandish girl, American to the 
bone, but this attic would be none the worse for a 
tenant, provided, of course, that she was really a pay¬ 
ing one. 

Elmer P. Dobree had told Mame more than once 
that “she was cute as a bag of monkeys.” The zoologi¬ 
cal resources of five continents could not have exceeded 
the flair with which Miss Durrance opened her vanity 
bag and produced an impressive roll of Bradburys. 

“I’ll be happy to pay a fortnight in advance.” It was 
Marne’s best Broadway manner. “Here is the money. 
I am a very respectable girl.” 

Reassured by the sight of the Bradburys rather than 
by the Broadway manner, which to the insular taste 
had a decidedly cosmopolitan flavour, the landlady went 
so far as to ask for a name and references. 

“I’m a special European correspondent.” Mame gave 
a slow and careful value to each word. 

A faint beam pierced the landlady’s gloom. She 
had feared “an actress”; although to be just to the 
girl she didn’t look that sort. 

“Here is my card,” Broadway cold drawn and pure, 
with a dash of Elmer P. talking over the phone. 

The chatelaine of Fotheringay House adjusted a pair 
of gold-rimmed eyeglasses and read: 


28 


THERE IS A TIDE 


Miss Amethyst Du Rance 

New York City, U. S. A. 
European Correspondent 

Cowbarn Independent 


The card was returned to its owner with polite 
thanks. A subtle gesture indicated that a sudden rise 
had occurred in the stock of Miss Amethyst Du Rance. 

“I’m not quite sure, Miss Du Rance, but I may be 
able to find you a bedroom on the second floor.” 

Victory! The roll had begun the good work, but 
the card had consummated it. One up for the Cowbarn 
Independent. 

Iowa’s shrewd daughter had realized already that it 
would not do to make a poor mouth in Europe. All 
the same Aunt Lou’s legacy was melting like snow. 
Money must appear to be no object as far as Miss 
Amethyst Du Rance was concerned; yet she must watch 
out or a whole dollar would not pull more than fifty 
cents. 

"‘Top floor’ll fix me.” Marne it was who spoke, yet 
with the lofty voice of Miss Amethyst Du Rance. 
^Tariff’ll be less, I reckon, but”—haughtily detaching 
a second Bradbury from the wad—“I’ll be most happy 
to pay spot cash in advance for a fortnight’s board 
and residence.” 



THERE IS A TIDE 


29 


Money is quite as eloquent in London, England, as 
it is in New York or Seattle or Milpitas, Cal. Marne’s 
air of affluence combined with a solid backing of notes 
did the trick, although the well-bred fashion in which 
a dyed-in-the-wool British landlady glossed over the 
fact seemed to render it non-existent. 

“You have luggage, I presume?” 

There was a trunk outside on the taxi. 

“The porter will take it up to your room. I will 
ring for him now.” 

Mrs. Toogood suited the word to the action, the 
action to the word. She was crisp and decisive, final 
and definite. Marne felt this lady was wasted in private 
life. She ought to have been in Congress. 


IV 


Tj'IVE minutes later Miss Amethyst Du Ranee and all 
her worldly goods were assembled in a small musty 
bedroom at the top of Fotheringay House. It smelt 
of damp. There was no grate or stove or any means 
of heating. The floor was shod with a very cold¬ 
looking brand of lino. Only a thin layer of cement 
divided the ceiling from the tiles of the roof—so thin, 
indeed, that the all-pervading yellow fog could almost 
be seen in the act of percolating through them. 

Mrs. Toogood, who had personally conducted her 
new guest up three pairs of stairs, lit the gas and drew 
the curtains across the narrow window. She then 
informed Miss Du Ranee that dinner was at half-past 
seven, but there would be afternoon tea in the drawing 
room on the first floor in about half an hour. 

Marne took off her coat and hat, removed the stains 
of travel from a frank and good-humoured counte¬ 
nance, re-did her hair and applied a dab of powder to 
a nose which had a tendency to freckle; and then she 
went downstairs. Stirred by a feeling of adventure 
she forgot how cold she was; also she forgot the chill 
that had gathered about her heart. London, England, 
was a long, long way from home. Its climate was 
thoroughly depressing and the same could be said of 
30 


THERE IS A TIDE 


3i 


its landladies. Whether the climate produced the land¬ 
ladies or the landladies produced the climate she had 
not been long enough in the island to say. 

The light in the drawing room was dim. It half 
concealed a glory of aspidistra, lace curtains, anti¬ 
macassars and wax fruits. There was a solemnity 
about it which by some means had been communicated 
to a unique collection of old women who upon sofas 
and chairs were collected in a semi-circle round an 
apology for a fire. Marne could not repress a shiver 
as one sibyl after another looked up from her wool¬ 
work or her book and gave the firm-footed and rather 
impulsive intruder the benefit of a frozen stare from 
a glacial eye. 

By the time Marne had subsided on the only unoccu¬ 
pied seat within the fire’s orbit, she felt that a jury 
of her sex having duly marked and digested her had 
come to the unanimous conclusion that she was guilty 
of presumption in being upon the earth at all. The 
detachment of this bunch of sibyls gave density and 
weight to the feeling. Their silence was uncanny. It 
was only disturbed by the click click of knitting pins 
and the occasional creak of the fire. 

Marne had been five minutes in a situation which 
every second made more irksome, since for the first 
time in her life she was at a total loss for speech, when, 
as Mrs. Toogood had predicted, tea appeared. That 
lady, in a demode black silk dress, which looked like 
an heirloom, preceded a metal urn, a jug of hot water, 
an array of cracked saucers and cups, some doubtful- 


32 


THERE IS A TIDE 


looking bread and butter, and still more doubtful-look¬ 
ing cake. All these things were borne upon a tray by 
the prim maid who had first admitted Marne to Fother- 
ingay House. 

The sight of “the eats” cheered Marne up a bit. 
And in conjunction with Mrs. Toogood’s arrival, they 
certainly went some way towards unsealing the frozen 
atmosphere of the witches’ parlour. A place was found 
for the hostess near the fire; the small maid set up a 
tea-table; the cups and saucers began to circulate. 

Marne was served last. By then the brew, not strong 
to begin with, had grown very thin. “Rather weak, 
Miss Du Ranee, I fear,” loftily said its dispenser. “I 
hope you don’t mind.” 

Marne, for whom that peculiarly British function 
which the French speak of as “le five-o’clock” was a 
new experience, promptly said she didn’t mind at all. 
Her voice was so loud that it fairly shattered the hush; 
it was almost as if a bomb had fallen into a prayer¬ 
meeting. Every ear was startled by the power of those 
broad nasal tones. 

“This is Miss Du Ranee of America.” The hostess 
spoke for the benefit of the company. It was not so 
much an introduction as an explanation; a defence and 
a plea rather than an attempt at mixing. 

Some of the sibyls glared at Marne, some of them 
scowled. No other attention was paid her. Yet they 
were able to make clear that her invasion of the ancient 
peace of Fotheringay House was resented. 

Little cared the visitor. Set of old tabbies. Bunch 


THERE IS A TIDE 


33 


of fossilised mossbacks. She was as good as they. 
And better. In drawing comparisons, Miss Du Ranee 
was not in the habit of underrating herself or of over¬ 
rating others. And she was a born fighter. 

Was it not sheer love of a fight that had brought 
her to Europe? She already saw that London was 
going to be New York over again: a city of four- 
flushers, with all sorts of dud refinements and false 
delicacies, unknown to Cowbarn, Iowa. Of course she 
was a little hick. But cosmopolitan experience was 
going to improve her. And cuteness being her long 
suit, these dames had no need to rub her rusticity into 
her quite so good and hearty. 

As Marne toyed with a cup of tea that was mere 
coloured water and took a chance with the last surviv¬ 
ing piece of “spotted dog/’ which had just one raisin 
beneath a meagre scrape of butter, her quick mind 
brought her right up against the facts of the case. 
Somehow she wasn’t in the picture. She must study 
how to fit herself into her surroundings. That was 
what she was there for; to see the world and to put her¬ 
self right with it. 

When in Rome you must do like the Romans, or 
you’ll bite granite. Paula Wyse Ling had sprung that. 
And Paula knew, for she had travelled. What she 
really meant was that Marne Durrance must unlearn 
most of what she had learned at Cowbarn, Iowa, if 
she was going to fire the East. 

Cowbarn was the home of the roughneck. But in 
New York City and London, England, highbrows 


34 


THERE IS A TIDE 


swarmed like bees. These places were the native 
haunts of that Culture in which Mame had omitted to 
take a course. 

She was soon convinced this was the dullest party 
she had ever been at. But it didn’t prevent her mind 
from working. Never in her life had she been more 
cast down. These people made her feel like thirty 
cents. They spoke in hushed and solemn voices. If 
this was Europe it would have been wiser to stay on 
her native continent. 

Presently the small maid bore away the teapot and 
the crockery. With massive dignity the mistress fol¬ 
lowed her out. The landlady’s withdrawal seemed, if 
it were possible, to add new chills to the gloom, and 
Mame having reached the point where she could stand 
it no longer, had just decided to make a diversion by 
going up to her bedroom and unpacking her trunk when 
a new interest was lent to the scene. A man entered 
the room. Marne’s first thought was that he must have 
a big streak of natural folly to venture alone and unpro¬ 
tected into this nest of sleeping cats. 

Strange to say, the temerarious male was made wel¬ 
come. The density of the atmosphere lessened as soon 
as he came in. One old tabby after another began to 
sit up and take notice; and Mame, while busily engaged 
in watching the newcomer, had a feeling of gratitude 
towards him for having cast by his mere presence a 
ray of light upon that inspissated gloom. 

Certainly he was no common man. As well as Mame 
could tell he was as old as the tabbies to whom he made 


THERE IS A TIDE 


35 


himself so agreeable. Yet he was old with a difference. 
His abundant hair, which was snow white, was brushed 
in a dandified way, and the note of gallantry was 
repeated in every detail of his personality. His clothes, 
though not strikingly smart, were worn with an air. 
There was style in the set of his necktie, and if his 
trousers might bag a little at the knees they somehow 
retained the cut of a good tailor. Also he wore a 
monocle in a way that seemed to add grace and charm 
to his manner and to cancel his curious pallor and his 
look of eld. 

Marne was at once deeply interested in this new 
arrival. No doubt he was one of the blood-peers, of 
whom she had read. Down on his luck perhaps, and 
for all his pleasant touch of swank, he somehow sug¬ 
gested it. Besides it stood to reason that a real blood- 
peer, used to the best that was going, as this old beau 
plainly was, would not be spending his time in a dead- 
alive hole playing purry-purry puss-puss if he were not 
up against it. 

All the same there was absolutely nothing in his 
manner to suggest a shortage of dough. It was so 
grand that it seemed to banish any vulgar question of 
ways and means. To judge by the way he dandled his 
eyeglass while he entertained the tabbies with his meas¬ 
ured yet copious and genial talk, he might have been 
the King of England with his beard off. 

When the clock on the chimneypiece struck seven the 
ladies rose in a body and withdrew to prepare for the 
evening meal. Their example was followed by Marne. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


36 

She would have liked to stay and get into conversation 
with the intriguing stranger, but dinner was in half 
an hour and it would take some little time to unpack her 
trunk in which was a new one-piece dress she was going 
to wear. Besides there would be a chance later in the 
evening, no doubt, of making his acquaintance. 

As it happened this pleasure had to be postponed. 
To Marne’s disappointment the old boy did not appear 
at dinner. But she did not blame him. The food was 
meagre and those who ate it were quite the dullest set 
she had ever seen. Some of the guests were accommo¬ 
dated with small separate tables. One of these had been 
provided for Miss Du Ranee. It was in a draughty 
corner, exposed to a strong current of air between two 
open doors which led to a large and antiquated lift 
whereby the meal ascended from the basement. 

Marne felt small-town, but she had come to Europe 
to learn. Even if the seclusion of a private table had 
its conveniences she would have much preferred to 
mingle with her fellow p.g.’s. She was social by nature. 
Besides, she was determined to be a mixer. All these 
folks had it in their power to teach her something, duds 
though they were. Britain must give up all its secrets 
to Miss Amethyst Du Ranee. Judging by the dead¬ 
beats who swarmed in this fog-bound isle they might 
amount to nothing; at the same time one cannot know 
too much of one’s subject. For some little time to 
come the subject for Miss Du Ranee was going to be 
London, England. 


V 


HE next morning the fog had lifted and Mame set 



out for Fleet Street. By Mrs. Toogood’s advice 
she boarded Bus 26 which passed the end of Monta- 
cute Square; and having made a friend of the con¬ 
ductor, a kindly and cheerful young man, he promised 
to let her know when they came to Tun Court. 

He was as good as his word. In about ten minutes 
he pulled the cord and popped his head into the bus. 
“Y’are, miss. Tun Court’s just opper-site.” And 
then as a concession to Marne’s accent, which was a 
long way from home: “Watch out, missy, when you 
cross the street.” 

Mame with her recent experience of Broadway and 
Fifth Avenue felt she could have crossed this street 
on her head. It was so narrow. And although there 
was no lack of traffic it was moving slow with a remark¬ 
able sense of order and alignment. But Mame liked the 
young conductor for his briskness and his courtesy; 
and as she stepped off the knife-board and with the 
fleetness of a slender-ankled nymph she dodged between 
the delivery vans of the Westminster Gazette and the 
Morning Post she winged him a bright smile. 

London, so far, was a city of disappointments. Tun 
Court added to their number. It was mean, insignifi- 


37 


THERE IS A TIDE 


38 

cant, tumble-down, grimy. But Marne had read that 
Doctor Johnson or some other famous guy had either 
lived or died in it. The latter probably. No man 
would have chosen Tun Court to live in, unless he had 
gone off the handle, as the famous, she had also read, 
were more apt to do than ordinary folks. 

The salient fact about Tun Court, however, had 
nothing to do with Doctor Johnson. It was the home 
of the well-known Society journal High Life. Marne 
would not have looked to find a paper of repute housed 
in this nest of frowsty, mildewed offices in which there 
was not space to swing a cat. But she did look and 
with such poor success that she had to open her bag and 
produce the address which Paula Ling had given her 
in order to verify it. Yes, it was O.K.: Number Nine, 
Tun Court, Fleet Street. Yonder, through that de¬ 
caying arch, which by some means had evaded the great 
fire of B.C. 1666—or it may have been A.D.?—was 
the footpath the ancient Romans had laid along the 
Fleet Ditch; and the cobblestones upon which Marne 
stood, which no doubt had been laid by the Romans 
also, indubitably rejoiced in the name Tun Court, since 
straight before her eyes a sign was up to say so. 

The puzzle was to find Number Nine. Tun Court 
dealt in names, not numbers. Among the names High 
Life was not to be found. There was the registered 
London office of the Quick Thinkers' Chronicle; also 
of the Broadcasters' Review; also of the official organ 
of the Amalgamated Society of Pew Openers. These 
were the portents which leaped to Marne’s eye, but the 


THERE IS A TIDE 


39 


one she sought did not seem to be there. At the far 
end of the alley, however, where the light was so bad 
that it was difficult to see anything, she was just able 
to decipher the legend, High Life. Top Floor. It 
was painted on a wall, inside a doorway. 

Mame boldly attacked some dark stairs, very hollow 
sounding and decrepit and full of sharp turns, passing 
en route the outer portals of the Eatanswill Gazette 
and other influential journals. The higher rose the 
stairs the darker they grew. But at last patience was 
rewarded. High Life —Inquiries, met the pilgrim’s 
gaze at the top of the second pair of stairs; yet had 
that gaze not been young and keen a match would have 
been needed to read the inscription on the wall. 

She knocked on the door and went in. A pig-tailed 
flapper lifted her eyes slowly from Volume 224 of the 
Duchess Library. 

In her best Broadway manner Mame asked if the 
editor was in. Miss Pigtail did not appear to be im¬ 
pressed by the Broadway manner. She made a bluff 
at concealing an out-size in yawns, laid aside her 
novelette with an air of condescension for which Mame 
longed to smack her face, and said, ‘Til take in your 
name.” 

Mame felt discouraged, but she was determined not 
to let the minx know it. With an air she took a card 
from her bag; and Miss Pigtail after one supercilious 
glance at it went forth to an inner room whose door 
was marked Private. 

In about thirty seconds Miss Pigtail reappeared. 


40 


THERE IS A TIDE 


“This way, please,” she said haughtily. Maine still 
had a desire to put one over on the young madam; but 
evidently she was coming to business all right. 

Seated before a roll-top desk, in a stuffy room 
twelve feet by twelve, whose only other furniture were 
an almanac and a vacant chair, was the editor of High 
Life. At least Marne surmised that the gentleman who 
received her occupied that proud position, even if he 
did not quite fulfil her idea of the part. It was dif¬ 
ficult to say just where he fell short, but somehow he 
did fall short. He was one of those large flabby men 
who are only seen without a pipe in their mouths when 
they are putting liquids into it. His eyes were tired, 
his front teeth didn’t seem to fit, and he had that air 
of having been born three highballs below par which 
some men inherit and others acquire. 

The editor of High Life was not a prepossessing 
man, although the most striking thing about him, his 
large moustache, was so wonderfully pointed and 
waxed, that Marne felt quite hypnotised by it. How¬ 
ever, she took a pull on herself, made her best bow and 
elegantly presented Paula Wyse Ling’s introduction 
letter. 

The visitor was invited to a chair. Then after brief 
examination of the envelope the editor made clear that 
he was not the person to whom it was addressed. “My 
name is Judson,” he said, “Digby Judson. I took over 
from Walter Waterson about nine months ago.” 

“So long as you’re the main guy,” Marne assured 


THERE IS A TIDE 


4i 

him, “it’ll be all right. I want to connect up with this 
paper.” 

With a slight frown of perplexity Mr. Digby Judson 
opened Miss Paula Ling’s letter. “It says nothing 
about experience,” he remarked mildly. “And to be 
quite candid I don’t know Paul M. Wing from Adam.” 

“It’s a her,” said Marne matter-of-factly. “Paula 
Ling’s the name.” 

“I beg her pardon, but I don’t know her from Eve.” 

Marne had a feeling that she had struck a concealed 
rock. “Old Man Waterson would have, anyway,” she 
said; and with a royal gesture she indicated her own 
card, now lying on the editorial blotting pad. 

Digby Judson took up the card and laughed. Marne 
was determined not to be sensitive, she simply could 
not afford to be, but that laugh somehow jarred her 
nerves. “Cowbarn Independent ” He gave her a 
comic look from the extreme corner of a bleared eye. 
“Holy Jones!” 

Marne’s heart sank. It was New York over again. 
This guy was not quite so brusque, but he had the same 
sneer in his manner. A sick feeling came upon her 
that she was up against it. 

“Cowbarn Independent! I don’t think you’ll be able 
to get away with that.” 

It was almost like casting an aspersion upon Marne’s 
parents. Natural pugnacity leaped to her eyes. In 
fact it was as much as she could do to prevent it from 
jumping off the end of her tongue. “A lot you know 
about it,” she yearned to say, but prudently didn’t. 


42 


THERE IS A TIDE 


The editor of High Life toyed with the card and 
drew a mock serious sigh for which Mame could have 
slain him. “When did you arrive in this country, Miss 
Du Ranee ?” 

“I landed Liverpool yesterday morning.” 

“And may I ask what you propose to do now you’ve 
landed?” 

For all the grim depth of her conviction that she 
could not afford to be thin-skinned, she resented the 
subtle impertinence of this catechism. Yes, it was 
New York over again. New York had advised her to 
cut out the Cowbarn and already she rather wished she 
had. But she had figured it out that London being a 
foreign city would not guess the sort of burg her home 
town was. 

All the same her faith in herself was not shaken. It 
was weak to have these qualms. Mame Durrance was 
Mame Durrance if she hailed from Cowbarn, Iowa, 
and Abe Lincoln was Abe Lincoln even if he was 
raised in the wilds of Kentucky. 

She crimsoned with mortification, but took herself 
vigorously in hand. “What’ll I do now I’ve landed? 
What do you suppose I’ll do ?” 

“Knock us endways, I expect.” 

“That’d be too easy, I guess—with some of you.” 

Mr. Digby Judson was by way of being a human 
washout but he liked this power of repartee. Few 
were the things he admired, but foremost among them 
was what he called “vim.” This amusing spitfire cer¬ 
tainly had her share of that. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


43 


4 ‘You think Em a little hick.” It is difficult to be 
wise when your temper breaks a string. “But I ain’t. 
Leastways I ain’t goin’ to be always. With European 
experience I’ll improve some.” 

“Ye-es, I daresay.” 

The dry composure of the editor’s voice caused Marne 
to see red. “I’m over here to pull the big stuff. An’ 
don’t forget it.” 

Mr. Digby Judson found it hard to conceal his amuse¬ 
ment. He gave his moustache a twirl and said patron- 
isingly: “Well, Miss Du Ranee, what can we do for 
you in the meantime?” 

“Help me to a few dollars.” 

Mr. Judson threw up his hands with an air of weary 
scorn. “My good girl, to seek dollars in Fleet Street 
is like looking for a flea in a five-acre plot. Never have 
they been so scarce or so many people after ’em. And 
pretty spry too, you know. They’ve studied the news¬ 
paper public and can give it just what it wants.” 

Marne was undaunted. “A chance to see what I 
can do—that’s all I ask.” 

“What can you do?” 

“Suppose I write a bunch of articles on British social 
life as it strikes an on-time American.” 

“Let us suppose it.” The editor had no enthusiasm. 

“Will you print the guff and pay for it?” 

This was in the nature of a leading question. Time 
was needed for Mr. Judson’s reply. “Rather depends, 
you know, on the sort of thing it is.” Out of defer¬ 
ence for the feelings of his visitor he did his best to 


44 


THERE IS A TIDE 


hide the laugh in his eyes. “You see what we chiefly 
go for is first-hand information about the aristocracy.” 

Miss Du Ranee was aware of that. 

“Are you in a position to supply it ?” 

“I expect I’ll be able to supply it as well as most if 
I get the chance.” 

“Well,” said Digby Judson, fixing Marne with a 
fishlike eye, “when you find yourself included in a 
party at a smart country house you can send along an 
account of the sayings and doings of your fellow guests, 
a description of their clothes, where they are going 
to spend the summer, who is in love with who and all 
that kind of bilge, and I’ll be very glad to consider it.” 

Marne thanked Mr. Judson for his sporting offer. 
“I’m sure you’ll fall for my junk when you see it. 
There’ll be pep in it. But of course I’ll want intros 
to start in.” 

“You have introductions, I presume?” The editor 
still hid his smile. 

Unfortunately Miss Du Ranee was rather short of 
introductions. But she hoped High Life would be 
able to make good the deficiency. 

High Life, it seemed, was not in a position to do so. 
But it had a suggestion to offer. Mr. Digby Judson 
looked through a litter of papers on his desk. Detach¬ 
ing one from the pile he refreshed his memory by a 
careful perusal. Then he said: “There is a vacancy 
for a housemaid, I believe, at Clanborough House, 
Mayfair.” 

The news left Marne cold. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


45 


“We have influence with the housekeeper at Clan- 
borough House. She is not exactly a member of our 
staff, but she receives a fee to keep our interests at 
heart. Clanborough House is still a power in the po¬ 
litical and social world. The position of housemaid 
offers considerable scope for a person of intelligence 
such as you appear to be, Miss Du Ranee.” 

“I? Housemaid! Me?” The voice of Miss Du 
Ranee went up a whole octave. 

“Of course,” said the editor, “to be quite candid, 
you would have rather to put a crimp in your style. 
These great houses are decidedly conservative. But 
you would find opportunities, large opportunities, be¬ 
lieve me, in such a position for obtaining the informa¬ 
tion we require.” 

Marne was staggered. The role of hired girl, even 
in a mansion, had not entered her calculations. “What 
do you take me for?” She rebuttoned her gloves, 
snorting blood and fire. “Don’t you see I’m a lady?” 

Mr. Digby Judson gazed fixedly at Marne, stroking 
his exotic moustache in the process. “There are ladies 
and ladies. Frankly, Miss Du Ranee, I can’t promise 
much success over that course. You see, in this coun¬ 
try at the present time we are overstocked, even with 
the genuine article. We are as prolific of ladies in 
England as they are of rabbits in Australia. But what 
we want here is pep and that’s where you Americans 
have got the pull. It’s pep, Miss Du Ranee, we are 
out for, and that, I take it, you are able to supply.” 


46 THERE IS A TIDE 

Mame looked death at the editor. But she said 
nothing. 

“If you’re wise you’ll give ladyism the go by. Better 
let me see if I can wangle this billet for you at Clan- 
borough House. A rare chance, believe me, for a girl 
like yourself, to study our upper class from the inside. 
You’ll be lucky if you get another such opportunity. 
If you really give your mind to the job I feel sure 
you’ll do well.” 

“No hired girling for me, I thank you,” Mame spoke 
in a level voice. 

Mr. Digby Judson looked a trifle disappointed. 
“Well, think it over. But I am fully convinced of one 
thing.” 

A down-and-out feeling upon her, Mame asked 
dully what the thing was. 

“It’s the only terms on which you are ever likely 
to find yourself at Clanborough House or any other 
place of equal standing.” 

Mame bit her lip to conceal her fury. The insult 
went deeper than any she had received in New York. 
As she bowed stiffly and turned to go she had a sudden 
thirst for Mr. Digby Judson’s blood. 

She had reached the door, its clumsy knob was in 
her hand when she turned again, and said with a slow 
smile over-spreading a crimson face, “You’ll excuse 
me asking, won’t you, but do you mind telling me if 
it’s very difficult to train canaries to roost on your mous¬ 
tache?” 


VI 


T 3 ITTERLY disappointed, Mame promptly found 
her way back into Fleet Street. The beginning 
was bad and there was no disguising it. Her New 
York experience had prepared her for difficulties fur¬ 
ther east; but she had not reckoned to bite granite so 
soon or quite so hard. If she put a crimp in her style 
she might take a situation as a housemaid! 

Moving towards the Strand she had now a feeling 
of hostility towards the people around her. These 
mossbacks who crowded the sidewalks had some con¬ 
ceit of themselves. But who were they? Mame 
asked herself that. Who were they, anyway? 

Luncheon at a cheap restaurant hardly improved 
Marne’s temper. The “eats” seemed queer. But at 
any rate they appeared to stimulate the mind. In the 
course of the meal, with the help of a newspaper 
propped against the cruet, she did a lot of thinking. 

To begin with, she must not look for too much suc¬ 
cess in London. As these Cockneys had it, Mame 
Durrance was not going to set the Thames on fire. 
The same applied with equal force to Miss Amethyst 
Du Ranee. She must watch her step. Aunt Lou’s 
legacy had now dwindled to something under five hun- 
47 


48 THERE IS A TIDE 

dred dollars. That plain fact was the writing on the 
wall. 

Mame foresaw that her trip to Europe was not likely 
to prove a long one, unless by some happy chance she 
struck oil. But of this there was no sign. Since com¬ 
ing east she had met nothing but bad luck. And her 
reception in Tun Court that morning told her to ex¬ 
pect no immediate change. Such being the case, she 
must put by half the money she still had, for a passage 
home across the Atlantic. 

By counting every dime she might carry on in Lon¬ 
don six weeks. Within that time she hoped, of course, 
to find a means of adding to her slender store. But 
at the moment she could not say that things looked rosy. 
The folks here did not cotton to her, still less did she 
cotton to them. 

After a slice of ham and a cup of coffee she ordered 
a piece of pumpkin pie. It was as if she had ordered 
the moon. The waitress had not even heard of the na¬ 
tional delicacy. 

Mame sighed. “Not heard of pumpkin pie!” This 
was a backward land. There was a lot of spadework 
to be done in it. A suspicion was growing that she 
would have done better to stay in New York. She had 
to be content with custard and stewed figs, upon which 
poor substitute she walked slowly along the Strand 
to Trafalgar Square. Here she turned into the Na¬ 
tional Gallery. As she ascended the many steps of 
the building she tried to raise a feeling of awe. Even 
if she was a little hick she knew that a true American 


THERE IS A TIDE 


49 

citizeness mentally takes off her shoes when she enters 
a dome of Culture. 

The feeling of awe was not very powerful. But 
she was a sane and cool observer of things and people; 
and if she was too honest to pretend to emotions she 
didn’t possess there was no reason why those walls 
should not be a mental stimulus. 

She took a seat on a comfortable divan, before a 
large and lurid Turner, all raging sea and angry sky. 
This picture impressed Marne Durrance considerably 
less than it had impressed Ruskin. But a hush of cul¬ 
ture all around enabled her to sit two good hours 
putting her ideas in order. A plan of some sort was 
necessary if she was going to make good. When she 
set out from Cowbarn, six months back, she felt that 
her natural abilities would carry her through anything. 
Now, she was not so sure. Things were no longer 
rose colour. There was a terrible lot of leeway to 
make up. She just had not guessed that she was so 
far behind the game. Perhaps it had been wiser to 
stay at home and put herself through college. 

Chastened by the buffets of the day she returned to 
Montacute Square about five. When she entered the 
gloomy drawing room the tabbies received her icily. 
Not a sign of success on the horizon so far. The tea 
drinking was as depressing as ever. Nobody took any 
notice of her. 

The aloofness of these frumps was as hard to bear 
as the insolence of the editor of High Life. Marne’s 
resentment grew. Presently she rose and went up to 


50 


THERE IS A TIDE 


her cold bedroom. She got out her writing case. 
Perched with knees crossed, on the end of her bed, she 
spent a prosperous hour jotting down her first day’s 
impressions of London, England. 

Vigorous mental exercise seemed to take a load off 
her spirit. What she had written ought to raise a smile 
in Elmer P. To-morrow she would go at it again; 
then it should be typed and mailed. If the boob fell 
for it, and born optimist that Marne Durrance was, she 
felt he sure would, where that stuff came from there 
was good and plenty more to pull. 


VII 


W HEN Mame returned to the drawing room she 
was dressed for the evening meal. It was only 
seven o’clock and she counted on having the place to 
herself, since at that hour the tabbies would be occu¬ 
pied with their own preparations. But as it happened 
the room was not quite empty. There was just one 
person in it. 

The old elegant, who had already excited Marne’s 
curiosity, stood before the meagre fire warming his 
thin hands. As soon as she came in he turned towards 
her with a little bow of rare politeness. 

“I am told,” he said in the deepest, most measured 
tone Mame had ever heard, “you are an American.” 

Mame owned to that in the half-humorous manner 
she had already adopted for the benefit of these island¬ 
ers. Some folks might have been abashed by this obvi¬ 
ous grandee. Not so Miss Amethyst Du Ranee. She 
was as good as the best and she was in business to prove 
it. These bums were not to be taken at their own val¬ 
uation. Back of everything her faith in her own 
shrewd wits was unshakable. 

“I have a very warm corner in my heart for all 
Americans.” 

“Have you so?” said Mame. 

Si 


52 


THERE IS A TIDE 


There was not a hint of patronage in the old buck’s 
manner, yet in spite of his air of simple kindness, Marne 
somehow felt the King-of-England-with-his-beard-off 
feeling creeping upon her. He was the goods all right, 
this old john, but she was determined to take him in her 
stride as she would have taken President Harding or 
any other regular fellow. 

“Won’t you tell me your name?” 

Marne opened the small bag which she never parted 
with, even at meal times, and took out her card. The 
old man fixed his eyeglass and scanned it with pro¬ 
digious solemnity. “Cowbarn.” A bland pause. 
“Now tell me, what state is that in? It’s very ignorant 
not to know,” he apologetically added. 

“No, it ain’t.” Marne was captivated by the air of 
humility, although not sure that it was real. “Cow- 
barn’s in the state of Iowa. On’y a one-horse burg.” 

“Ah, yes, to be sure, Iowa.” The grandee made 
play with his eyeglass. “I remember touring the Mid¬ 
dle West with Henry Irving in ’89.” 

So long was ’89 before Marne was born that she was 
a trifle vague upon the subject of Henry Irving. But 
she knew all about Lloyd George, Arthur, Earl of Bal¬ 
four, and even Old Man Gladstone of an earlier day. 
She surmised that Henry was one of these. 

“A senator, I guess?” 

“My dear young lady, no.” The tone of surprise 
was comically tragic. “Henry Irving was the greatest 
ac-torr Eng-laand ever produced.” 

“You don’t say!” The awe in Marne’s voice was an 


THERE IS A TIDE 


53 

automatic concession to the awe in the voice of the 
speaker. 

“Yes, Eng-laand’s greatest ac-torr.” There was a 
note of religious exaltation in the old grandee. “I 
toured the United States three times with Henry 
Irving.” 

“Did you visit Cowbarn? ,, Marne asked for polite¬ 
ness’ sake. To the best of her information, Cowbarn, 
like herself, had not been invented in ’89. 

“I seem to remember playing the Duke there to 
Henry Irving’s Shylock at a one-night stand,” said the 
grandee also for politeness’ sake. He had never heard 
of Cowbarn, he had never been to Iowa, and in ’89 
Henry the August had given up the practice of playing 
one-night stands. But the higher amenities of the 
drawing room are not always served by a conservative 
handling of raw fact. 

Marne, with that sharp instinct of hers, knew the old 
chap was lying. But it didn’t lessen her respect. He 
had an overwhelming manner and when he gave the 
miserable fire a simple poke he used the large gesture 
of one who feels that the eyes of the universe are upon 
him. Still, with every deduction made, and a homely 
daughter of a republic felt bound to make many, he was 
the most human thing she had met so far in her travels. 

His name was Falkland Vavasour. And in confid¬ 
ing to Marne this bright jewel of the English theatre, 
which his pronunciation of it led her to think it must 
be, he yet modestly said that its lustre was nought com¬ 
pared with the blinding effulgence of the divine Henry. 


54 


THERE IS A TIDE 


“Some ac-torr, old man Henry Irv,” Marne was care¬ 
ful to pronounce the sacred word “actor” in the manner 
of this old-timer. 

“My de-ah young lady, Henry Irving was a swell. 
Never again shall we look upon his like.” 

“I’ll say not.” And then with an instinct to hold 
the conversation at the level to which it had now risen 
Marne opened the door of fancy. “Come to think of 
it, Eve heard my great-uncle Nel speak of Henry Irving. 
You’ve heard, I guess, of Nelson E. Grice, the Federal 
general, one of the signatures to the peace of Appo¬ 
mattox. He was the brother of my mother’s mother. 
Many’s the time I’ve set on Great-uncle’s knee and 
played with the gold watch and chain that his old 
friend General Sherman give him the day after the 
battle of Gettysburg.” 

Great-uncle Nel had really nothing to do with the 
case, but Marne felt he was a sure card to play in this 
high-class conversation. The old Horse had not been 
a general, he had not signed the peace of Appomattox, 
and there was a doubt whether General Sherman, whose 
friend he certainly was, had ever given him a gold 
watch and chain; but he was a real asset in the Dur- 
rance family. Apart from this hero there was nothing 
to lift it out of the rut of mediocrity. Quite early in 
life Marne had realized the worth of great-uncle Nel. 

Mr. Falkland Vavasour had the historical sense. He 
rose to General Nelson E. Grice like a trout to a may 
fly. The old buck refixed his eyeglass and recalled 
the Sixties. He was playing junior lead at the Liver- 


THERE IS A TIDE 


55 


pool Rotunda when the news came of President Lin¬ 
coln’s assassination. He remembered— But what did 
he not remember? Yes, great-uncle Nel was going to 
be a sure card in London, England. 

Marne was getting on with the old beau like a house 
on fire when the clock on the chimneypiece struck half- 
past seven. Mr. Falkland Vavasour gave a little sigh 
and said he must go. Marne, quickened already by a 
regard for this charming old man, who lit the gloom 
of Fotheringay House, expressed sorrow that he was 
not dining in. 

But it seemed that Mr. Falkland Vavasour never 
did dine in. This applied, in fact, to all his meals. 
All his meals were taken out. 

“But why?” asked Marne disappointedly. 

“My dear young lady”—the old-timer’s shrug was 
so whimsical yet so elegant it sure would have made 
Henry Irving jealous—“one has nothing against the 
cook of our hostess— But!” 

Until that moment Marne had not realized what a 
world of meaning a simple word can hold. 

She was keenly disappointed. As the first tabby in¬ 
vaded the drawing room Mr. Falkland Vavasour passed 
out. A glamour, a warmth, passed out with him. 
Everything grew different. It was a change from 
light to darkness; it was like a swift cloud across the 


sun. 


VIII 


HE days to follow wrought havoc with Aunt 



Lou’s legacy. Marne’s idea had been to support 
herself with her pen during her stay in England. She 
had a gift, or thought she had, for expressing herself 
on paper; she had a sharp eye for things, she had 
energy and she had ideas; yet soon was she to learn 
that as far as London went the market for casual writ¬ 
ing was no better than New York. 

Times there were when she began to regret her safe 
anchorage at Cowbarn. But she did not spend much 
time looking back. She was determined to be a go- 
getter. Briskly she went about the town, seeing and 
hearing and jotting down what she saw and heard. 
And every Friday morning she mailed a packet of her 
observations to the Cowbarn Independent. 

Weeks went quickly by. No word came from the 
only friend she had in the small and tight world of 
editors. Even Elmer P. Dobree, on whom she had 
optimistically counted, had turned her down. And 
things were not going well with her. She had not been 
able to earn a dollar in Europe, yet daily the wad was 
growing less. The time was sure coming when she 
would have to go home with her money spent and only 
a few chunks of raw experience to show for it. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


57 


Perhaps she had tried to prise off a bit too much. 
Wiser, perhaps, to have stuck to her job. She had 
been a fairly efficient stenographer and typist. But 
her active mind was bored. Hovering around that 
hard stool in the Independent office it wanted all there 
was in the world. Yet first New York and now Lon¬ 
don, in their sharp reality, had taught her that the 
world was a bigger place than she had allowed for. 
And there were more folks in it. There were simply 
millions of Marne Durrances around: every sort of 
go-getter, all wanting the earth and with just her chance 
of connecting up. But if the worst came, so she had 
figured it out, and she failed to click in what these 
Britishers called “journalism,” she would always be 
able to return to an office stool. 

Now, however, she was not so sure. As far as 
London went, it had six million people and half of 
them seemed to be looking for jobs. Just to keep in 
touch she had applied for one or two vacancies adver¬ 
tised in the papers. She had no real wish to get them. 
It would have been an admission of defeat and it was 
early days for that. But it would be well, in case the 
time really came, to know how to come in out of the 
rain. 

She had applied in person but results were not en¬ 
couraging. Secretarial work was badly paid in Lon¬ 
don and the struggle for it terrible. There was noth¬ 
ing like enough to go round. Besides, when all was 
said, Miss Amethyst Du Ranee had not come to Eng¬ 
land to adorn an office stool. 


58 


THERE IS A TIDE 


It was not yet time to say good-bye to ambition. 
She still firmly believed it was in her to make good as 
a newspaper girl. But it was not easy to conquer the 
East. Compared with most of these high-flyers and 
four-flushers she was up against, with their finesse 
and their culture and their slick talk, Marne Durrance 
was a little hick. No use disguising it; she was a little 
hick. “A sense of ignorance is the beginning of knowl¬ 
edge” was one of the mottoes for 1921 in the office 
calendar which had adorned the fly-walk at the back 
of her typewriter and which, with an eye to the future, 
she had committed to memory in her spare moments. 

The beginning of knowledge for Marne Durrance 
meant covering up your tracks. She must see that 
none of her fellow go-getters put one over on her. 
But even that simple precaution was not easy. They 
smiled every time she opened her face, these college 
boobs. And being as sharp as a hawk she had soon 
decided that her first duty was to get rid of her accent. 

To this end she went freely about, she dressed to the 
limit of her slim purse, she laid herself out to meet 
interesting folks. Her fellow p.g.’s of Fotheringay 
House could not be considered interesting. But there 
was one exception. Mr. Falkland Vavasour continued 
to show himself much her friend. And he was quite 
the most interesting creature she had met. He was, 
also, very useful. It was a joy to hear him speak 
what he called the King’s English. She felt she could 
not do better than model herself on this living fount 
of euphony. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


59 

First she must cast out the nasal drawl that raised 
a smile wherever it was heard. Then she must mobi¬ 
lise the vowels and consonants of the mother tongue in 
the style which gave Mr. Falkland Vavasour an as¬ 
sured position in the drawing room of Fotheringay 
House. The tabbies, for the most part man-haters, 
simply hung on the words of Mr. Falkland Vavasour. 
This was mainly due, in Marne’s opinion, to his fault¬ 
less voice production; and she soon set to work to 
study it. 

Paula Wyse Ling, the most accomplished go-getter 
of her acquaintance, had said it was worth any girl’s 
while to visit London in order to acquire an English 
accent. Marne had doubted this. What was good 
enough for Cowbam, Iowa, should have been good 
enough for the whole world. But the world, it 
seemed, was some place. She now began to see what 
Paula meant. 

No sooner had Miss Amethyst Du Ranee won the 
friendship of Mr. Falkland Vavasour than she de¬ 
cided that something must be done in the matter. She 
discreetly asked if he could tell her how to improve 
her voice. The old man tactfully said it didn’t need 
improvement. In his opinion it was a fine and power¬ 
ful organ. Marne felt this was politeness. Her voice 
didn’t lack force but force was the trouble. “It needs 
a soft pedal,” said Marne. “Refinement, you know, 
and charm and all the frills of the West End theatres, 
restaurants and shops.” 

The old actor had a sense of humour and a kind 


6o 


THERE IS A TIDE 


heart. He was amused by Mame, and he liked her. 
It would have been hard for an artist in life not to 
like such naivete, such enthusiasm, such concentration, 
such fire. But this voice of hers was a problem. It 
had a natural punch that treated brick walls as if they 
were brown paper. 

Toying with his monocle, in all things the perfect 
john, he drawled: '‘My de-ah young lady, if I may 
say so, your voice is mag-nif-i-cent, simply mag-nif-i- 
cent.” 

Marne’s smile crumpled under the sheer action-pres¬ 
sure of her mind. “Some ways it ain’t. Some ways 
it’s wanting.” 

“A shade more of—er, distinction perhaps?” 

“Distinction.” Mame darted on the word like a 
bird on an insect. “You said it. Distinction’s mine. 
And I’ll get it, too—if it kills me.” 

“My de-ah young lady, perfectly simple for a girl 
of your talent.” 

“Honest? You think that?” The good grey eye 
glowed hopefully. “I wish I could say mag-nif-i-cent 
as poyfect as you can.” 

“You will, my de-ah young lady, believe me, you 
will.” 

“Well, I’ll start to learn right now.” 

Mr. Falkland Vavasour smiled approval. He ad¬ 
vised her to draw three deep breaths from the lower 
chest and to pronounce the word syllable by syllable. 

Mame stood to her full height. She inflated. 
“Mag-nif-i-cent! Mag-nif-i-cent! Mag-nif-i-cent!” 


THERE IS A TIDE 


61 


“My de-ah young lady, what could be better ?” 

This was vastly encouraging. But it was only a 
beginning and her nature was to leave nothing to chance. 
A little later that day she acquired a second-hand copy 
of Bell’s Standard Elocutionist from a bookshop in 
the Charing Cross Road. And then she arranged for 
Mr. Falkland Vavasour to hear her say a little piece 
every morning, when the drawing-room was empty. 


IX 


TV J AME'S friendship with “the mystery man” con- 
tinued to grow. That was a name his fellow 
guests had given him. His comings and goings were 
indeed mysterious. Nobody knew where he took his 
meals. Nobody knew what his circumstances were. 
All the time he had been at Fotheringay House, which 
was quite a number of years, his name had never been 
seen in a playbill. But there was a legend that he had 
once had an engagement with Bancroft at the old Prince 
of Wales. 

He was always dressed immaculately, he was the 
soul of courtesy, his talk was urbane, and to Marne at 
any rate, it seemed highly informed. But there was 
no concealing from her keen eyes that the old boy was 
thin as a rail. In fact she would hardly have been 
surprised if some bright morning a wind from the 
east had blown him away altogether. As for his 
clothes, in spite of the wonderful air with which he 
wore them, and good as they had been, they were 
almost threadbare and literally shone with age. 

Marne gathered from one of the tabbies, who in the 
process of time began to thaw a little, that Mr. Falk¬ 
land Vavasour was a distant connection of the land¬ 
lady’s. This fact was held to explain why he was 
62 


THERE IS A TIDE 63 

allowed to live at Fotheringay House while invariably 
taking his meals at his club. At least it was gener¬ 
ally understood that it was at his club that he took his 
meals. But wherever he may have taken them, even 
if the food was more delicate than at Fotheringay 
House, it could hardly have been more abundant. 
Week by week the old man grew thinner and thinner. 
His step on the drawing-room carpet grew lighter and 
more feeble. Even his wonderful voice lost something 
of its timbre. Yet amid all these signs of decay, he 
retained that alert, sprightly man-of-the-worldliness 
which Marne found so curiously fascinating. 

One morning, soon after breakfast, when she had 
been nearly five weeks at Fotheringay House, she sat 
in a comer of the dismal drawing room adding up 
her accounts and gloomily wondering whether the time 
had not come to look for “board and residence” that 
would cost less. Suddenly there came a rude shock. 
Mrs. Toogood entered in a state of agitation. Mr. 
Falkland Vavasour had just been found dead in his 
bed. 

A doctor had already been sent for. But until he 
arrived the cause of Mr. Falkland Vavasour’s death 
must remain, like the old man himself, a mystery. The 
landlady as well as her p.g’s were quite at a loss to 
account for the tragic occurrence. Miss Glendower, 
the most conversational of the tabbies, opined that it 
must be sheer old age. Dear Mr. Falkland Vavasour 
must certainly be very old. 


6 4 


THERE IS A TIDE 


Miss Du Ranee agreed that he must be. For was 
he not playing the junior lead at the Liverpool Rotunda 
when the news came of President Lincoln’s assassina¬ 
tion? 

“What year was that?” asked Miss Glendower. 

“ ’Sixty-five.” Marne gave that outstanding date 
in history with pride and with promptitude. Before 
starting east she had fortified a memory naturally good 
by a correspondence course; therefore she could 
trust it. 

Miss Glendower had no doubt at all that old age 
was the cause of death. But Marne was visited sud¬ 
denly by a grim suspicion. It might be old age. Or 
it might not— Before giving an opinion she would 
await the doctor’s verdict. 

In a few minutes came the doctor. He was re¬ 
ceived by Mrs. Toogood, who led him slowly up two 
flights of stairs to the room of Mr. Falkland Vavasour. 
Overmastered by curiosity, and with an ever-deepening 
agitation fixing itself upon her—Marne had really liked 
this kindly and charming old man—she followed a 
small procession up the stairs. 

She stood on the threshold of the room while the 
doctor bent over the bed. First he took one frail and 
shrunken hand and then he took the other. 

“I’ve never heard him complain of any kind of ill¬ 
ness,” she heard the landlady say in a low voice. “He 
never gave one the slightest reason to suspect there 
was anything wrong.” 


THERE IS A TIDE 


65 

‘‘How long has he lived here?” the doctor asked. 

“He has occupied this room for more than twenty 
years.” 

“An actor, I think you said?” 

“Oh, yes. Mr. Falkland Vavasour, quite a cele¬ 
brated actor.” 

“I don’t seem to remember the name. No doubt 
he belongs to a bygone generation.” 

“He was a very distinguished man.” 

“Where did he get his meals?” 

“His meals?” The voice of the landlady grew a 
little vague. “Of late years he always took his meals 
out.” 

“Can you tell me where?” 

“At one of his smart clubs in the West End, I be¬ 
lieve.” 

“Which one in particular did he frequent? Can 
you tell me?” 

Mrs. Toogood, unfortunately, could not. But she 
understood that he had been a member of several. 

“Do I understand you to say, ma’am,” said the doc¬ 
tor, gently releasing the hand of the old man, that 
Mr. Falkland Vavasour never took any food in this 
house?” 

“When he came here first,” said the landlady, “he 
was usually in to all his meals. Then he gave up hav¬ 
ing dinner in the evening because of his digestion. 
After that he took to having his luncheon out. And 
for the last year, for some reason or other—he was 


66 


THERE IS A TIDE 


always a bit faddy and peculiar in his ways—he used 
to go out for his breakfast. But as he had been here 
so long and he was a sort of connexion of my late 
husband’s—I don’t quite know what the relationship 
was but my husband was always proud of him—I al¬ 
lowed him to keep on his room.” 

“It was duly paid for, I presume?” 

“Always, punctually, until about three weeks ago. 
When he got behind it seemed to trouble him a good 
deal, but I told him not to worry.” 

“Well, I am sorry to have to tell you that there will 
have to be a post mortem. Mr. Falkland Vavasour 
has all the appearance of having died of starvation.” 

Marne waited to hear no more. She was deeply 
grieved. And she was rather shocked. Yet she was 
not so shocked as she would have been had not her 
swift mind leaped forward to the doctor’s verdict, 
even before the worthy man had arrived to give it. 
Yes, the grisly truth was plain for any who had eyes 
to see. Grand seigneur to the end, too proud to eat 
a crust he could not pay for, his only means of liveli¬ 
hood vanished long ago, he had passed out as he had 
lived, a prince among four-flushers. 

Upstairs, in the privacy of her dismal room, Marne 
wept. Something had gone from Fotheringay House, 
something that could never return. Among all the 
millions of people seething around, this dear old man 
had been her only friend. 

Shivering on the edge of her bed in that chill attic, 


THERE IS A TIDE 67 

she felt horribly lonely now. Nostalgia came upon 
her, a longing for home. She did not understand these 
people. A powerful craving for the hearty, simple 
folks she knew and loved crept over her while she 
fought to control her tears. 


X 


QUCH havoc had been played in a short time with 
^ Marne’s cash balance by the life of London, Eng¬ 
land, that already the margin of safety was nearly 
reached. By the end of that week—it was Tuesday 
now—she would be compelled to take a bus to Cock- 
spur Street and see about a passage home. 

The thought was not pleasant. A second failure, 
if hardly so painful as the one in New York, was even 
more dire. For by the time she looked again on the 
Statue of Liberty very nearly all the munitions of war 
would have vanished. And what would remain to 
show? 

Marne needed all her grit to bear up. The tragic 
end of Mr. Falkland Vavasour was the writing on the 
wall. Did it not prove how fatally easy it was for 
people, even of a certain position, to fall out of the 
ranks ? 

The clouds were gathering. Since landing in Eng¬ 
land she had not earned a dime. She had called on 
many editors and found them inaccessible; she had 
mailed them her stuff; but there was nothing doing. 
Her style was not what they were used to; and this 
nation of snails prided itself on being conserva- 
68 


THERE IS A TIDE 69 

tive. But the worst blow of all was the silence of 
Elmer P. Dobree. 

Swift time flowed on. But the much-looked-for en¬ 
velope, bearing the magic postmark “Cowbarn, Iowa,” 
did not come. Friday by Friday, with the super¬ 
optimism her high-spirited countrywomen have ele¬ 
vated to a religion, the dauntless Marne mailed two 
columns to the editor of the Cowbarn Independent. 
Each week as she registered the packet and slipped the 
chit into her handbag she was as sure that Elmer P. 
would fall as she was convinced she could turn off that 
sort of junk until the cows came home. The stuff 
was good. Even a simp with half an eye could see 
that. Not highbrow, but better; the newspapers 
wanted things homely and plain. And there was any 
amount of pep in it. Every word was hot from the 
mint of experience. 

All the same the weeks went and not so much as a 
line of acknowledgment came from the man on whose 
friendship she had counted. This silence was mys¬ 
terious and exasperating. However, she would not 
let herself be cast down. She went freely about this 
comic town of London. There was more to it than 
at first she had supposed. Her first impression had 
been of a slower New York; a New York with a cer¬ 
tain amount of moss on it. But when she had spent a 
few weeks noting and recording the ways of this queer 
burg, she began to see that it had its own standards, 
its own way of doing things and that it would repay 
study. 


70 


THERE IS A TIDE 


She had really come to Europe to improve her knowl¬ 
edge of the world. Once properly grounded in what 
to Marne’s mind was the first of all sciences, she would 
return to New York, that city of four-flushers which 
had mocked and derided her, with the ace of trumps 
concealed up a fashionable sleeve. 

To this end she must get around; and, if she could, 
contrive to see the life of London from the inside. 
Among such self-contained and stand-off folks this was 
not easy. That was why she had stayed on at Fother- 
ingay House. It was the best address she could afford. 
Nay, as things went with her, it was a better address 
than she could afford. But its portentous air of pro¬ 
priety was worth paying for. New York had taught 
her that propriety, an elusive soulless thing, was indis¬ 
pensable for a girl who had to play a lone hand. 

She was living far beyond her means, but she man¬ 
aged to see just a little of smart restaurants at luncheon 
and at tea time. Picture galleries bored her, but she 
conscientiously did them. Culture was always worth 
while; another card to keep up your sleeve. At con¬ 
certs and theatres she occupied a cheap seat; she saw 
all the sights of the town. And now, at a tragic mo¬ 
ment, came the knowledge that she must pack up and 
go home. 

Moving about the streets, she felt this day to be the 
worst she had yet known. Even the humiliation put 
on her by the New York police had not yielded a sensa¬ 
tion of being so truly up against it. Not a chance did 


THERE IS A TIDE 


7i 

there seem of making good. She would give herself 
till Saturday and then arrange to quit. 

For the first time since her arrival in London she 
perceived a touch of spring in the air. Emboldened, 
she climbed on to the roof of Bus 56 and let it take 
her where it would. The line of route was along the 
Embankment, past the Houses of Parliament, across 
Westminster Bridge. Old Father Thames was lovely 
this morning, with a hint of blue sky furtively peep¬ 
ing through soft grey mist. 

As Marne looked back and saw the line of great hotels 
towering up and dominating the river with their 
haughty facades, never to her had they appeared so 
aloof, so magnetic, so inaccessible. Her desire had 
been to storm those cosmopolitan portals, but moving 
now towards the humbler purlieus of the southeast, she 
could not help reflecting bitterly how ill-founded was 
that ambition. 

Still she was a fighter. The trick was in her blood. 
And never had the sense of her inheritance been more 
insurgent than on the top of Bus 56 this rare March 
morning, when for Marne Durrance the bottom seemed 
out of things. She could not bear the thought of giving 
in. Memories of great-uncle Nel rose in her heart. 
She could remember that fine old warrior having said 
that when things looked blackest for the Union in the 
Civil War, his chief, the famous General Sherman, had 
declared, “If only we can stick it the clouds will lift.” 

These words, of late, had been much with her. 
Since she had started out to see the world and had 


72 


THERE IS A TIDE 


known what it was to lie worried, sleepless, heavy eyed, 
in an airless attic, she had often recalled just how 
great-uncle Nel turned a thin but strong cigar over in 
his teeth as he made his contribution to history. 

Yes, all came back to the power of sticking it. As 
Bus 56 trundled on, Marne kept repeating to herself 
that memorable phrase. If only she could stick it! 
That odd faculty was the measure of her worth, as it 
had been that of folks whose shoes she was not fit to 
tie. 


XI 


3 luck would have it, Bus 56 came at last to a 



^ stop opposite a cinema in Camberwell Green. 
The posters outside were featuring the fratricidal con¬ 
flict in which great-uncle Nel had borne a part. Indeed, 
there was a certain quaint old-timer who had a poster 
all to himself immediately under the booking office 
window who was General Sherman’s colleague to the 
very life. At the sight of this warrior something 
thrilled in Marne. She was not superstitious and she 
always made a point of believing as little as possible 
of what one had no means of proving; but that picture 
went some way to convince her that at this moment the 
occult was putting one over on her. 

Promptly she got off the bus and made for the book¬ 
ing office. But a notice under the window said it was 
not open until two o’clock and that the show did not 
begin until half an hour later. As yet it was barely 
one o’clock, so there was nothing for it but to kill the 
time. 

Marne took a walk up Denmark Hill. It was not a 
very inspiring altitude. Nor did a glass of milk and 
a bath bun at a dairyman’s near the tram terminus at 
East Dulwich station do much to raise her spirits. 


73 


THERE IS A TIDE 


74 

Never had she felt so intensely that she was nearing a 
crisis. 

Back again at Camberwell Green she entered the 
cinema just as the orchestra was tuning up. It was 
an orchestra of two, a fiddle and a piano, and it seemed 
to add to her depression. Out of deference to the 
film, which was entitled '‘Scenes from the Great Civil 
War,” the fiddle and the piano discoursed those melo¬ 
dies with which Marne’s childhood had been most fa¬ 
miliar. 

They began with “Suwanee River” and kindred 
themes of de ole plantation and went on to “John 
Brown’s Body” and “The Battle Hymn of the Re¬ 
public.” Marne soon wished that she had stayed out¬ 
side. With all respect to great-uncle Nel she was not 
in a mood to enjoy this rechauffe of her youth. For 
she could not forget that her youth had been hard and 
unhappy. 

In the first place she had never known a mother’s 
love. At her birth her father had been left a widower. 
But when Marne, an only child, was five years old, he 
married a hard-natured, unsympathetic woman. Good 
had come, indirectly, of the stepmother’s rule. It had 
not made for joy; but those years had fanned a secret 
flame in Marne’s ambitious heart. Resentment took the 
form of a passion for self-improvement. With the 
help of the village schoolmarm, kindly Miss Jenkins, 
she studied so hard in the hours when minds less nim¬ 
ble were asleep, that on her eighteenth birthday she was 
able to fill a vacant stool in the Independent office. And 


THERE IS A TIDE 


75 


on that red-letter day, life for Mame Durrance began. 

The opening scenes of the film brought back the past 
vividly. A hundred details, half-forgotten, reminded 
her of the farm four miles from Cowbam, where she 
had been brought up. She saw again, in the types 
thrown on the screen, the dour, lean, Middle Western 
farmer, her father. The sight of him was an intoler¬ 
ably painful memory. An embittered, unsuccessful 
man, who in his later days had often drunk more 
whiskey than was good for him, in Marne’s recollection, 
he had never been happy in his work or in his home. 
He had been years in his grave, yet time, the healer, 
did not allow his daughter to feel affection for him. 
Still perhaps she had a little pity. He was one of life’s 
miss-fires. Groping along from year to year in the 
old rut, without vision, without initiative, a weak man 
rather than a bad one, his sins mainly were the sins of 
omission. And the worst of them, in the eyes of his 
child who had paid for it, was that he had not been 
man enough to stand up to the selfish vixen he had 
taken for his second wife. 

It was no use pretending that the film’s poignant 
reminders of her childhood were pleasant. The dis¬ 
comfort, the toil, the loneliness, all came back to her. 
How had it been possible for a creature like herself, 
with only a half-educated village dame to help her, to 
get away from it all? That was the question now in 
her mind. And the emotion aroused by these familiar 
scenes had little enough to do with the heroic figure 
of her real mother’s Uncle Nel, although the fine type 


THERE IS A TIDE 


76 

to which he belonged was also there. Uppermost in 
Mame were disgust and pity. But she had escaped. 
By some miracle she had escaped. And no matter 
what happened to her now, she knew that she could 
never go back to the drudgery and the boredom of the 
place whence she came. 

Memories of the past grew too painful to bear. 
Mame did not wait for the battle pieces. Even great- 
uncle Nebs General Sherman, who had a picture all to 
himself, and the soldierly groups, in any one of whom 
might be the rare old man she remembered so clearly, 
had not the power to stay the panic rising in her heart. 
It was weak, this sense of tumult; it was foolish and 
worse than foolish, it was cowardly; but quite sud¬ 
denly Mame cast all thought from her of great-uncle 
Nel. She got up and fled from the cinema. 

Outside, amid the dismal waste of bricks and mor¬ 
tar, which ironically called itself Camberwell Green, 
a rather frosty March sun was waning. Mame stood 
a few moments under the awning of the cinema in a 
state of irresolution, not knowing what to do next. It 
was as if she had become hypnotised by a sense of life’s 
vastness and complexity. The world was far beyond 
all calculation; yet now she felt just the meanest thing 
in it. 

However, she caught sight of Bus 56, wheeling round 
to the opposite kerb. It was about to return to Char¬ 
ing Cross. Mame lest no time in climbing to a seat 
on the roof. Bus 5 6, at that moment, was the one 
thing in her life that held the core and semblance of 


THERE IS A TIDE 


77 


reality. All the rest was chaos and old night. But 
this prosaic vehicle meant something. Panic-stricken 
as Marne now was, it stood for will, volition, force. 

Yes, she was panic-stricken. It was very absurd. 
In the most illogical and unexpected way, a subtle 
demon had sprung upon her for the second time. The 
first had been in that epic moment when she had driven 
in a cab to the police office in New York with the horrid 
Detective Addelsee sitting by her side. But on that 
occasion there had been some excuse for this feeling of 
dull and helpless terror. On the present occasion there 
was none. 

The shrewd air of the bus top revived her a bit. 
Her fighting spirit began to rally. If once it deserted 
her she was done. Why this attack of cold feet? 
There was nothing to be afraid of. She still had 
money enough to get home. It would not be the Iowa 
farmhouse to which she knew now she could never 
return. Home, for her, must be one of the big and 
friendly cities of that republic of which she was proud 
to be a daughter. 

Big indeed were those cities. But were they so 
very friendly? Marne had begun to ask herself that 
by the time Bus 56 had reached the Elephant and Cas¬ 
tle. Frankly, in her experience of them, they were 
not. To a little hick, as raw as herself, New York, 
for example, had been quite the reverse. Apart from 
Aunt Lou’s dollars, it had no use for her. It had 
swallowed nine hundred of those dollars and lodged 


THERE IS A TIDE 


78 

her in jail before you could say knife. No, friendly 
was not quite the word for New York. 

Still, in this bleakly inhospitable island, which was 
gulping her dollars just as quickly, even if it had re¬ 
frained from putting her in jail, it would not do to 
knock New York. It was where she belonged. Amer¬ 
ica had treated her pretty rough but it was the land 
she loved and admired. She might hate her step¬ 
mother and deplore her father, yet after all it was the 
home of her mother’s memory. No, in spite of fail¬ 
ures and bad breaks, it would not do to knock little old 
New York. 

This sentiment, which she knew to be no more log¬ 
ical than the others, was so vividly upon her by the 
time she left the bus at Charing Cross, that she crossed 
at once to the office of the shipping company in Cock- 
spur Street. If a boat, by which she could afford to 
travel, was leaving at the end of the week, she would 
book a passage. Better say good-bye to London a week 
too soon, than stay a week too long and find yourself 
stranded. 

When, however, she reached the offices of the ship¬ 
ping company she felt bound to pause before she went 
in. Was it wise to act so precipitately? Why sur¬ 
render to wild impulses ? It was a big decision to make 
on the spur of the moment. What she did now could 
not be undone later. She had figured on staying an¬ 
other week in London. Every day’s experience was 
valuable. Any day she might hear from Elmer Dobree, 


THERE IS A TIDE 


79 

telling her that her stuff was O.K., asking for more, 
enforcing his demands with a cheque. 

Unreasoningly as her cinema panic, an odd wave of 
optimism flowed over Marne as she stood gazing into 
the shipping company’s window. She had always 
yielded to this recurring wave that seemed to spring 
from her higher nature. Had she not done so from 
the beginning she would still be eating out her heart 
on her father’s farm. What could have seemed more 
hopeless than for Marne Durrance to thirst after Cul¬ 
ture? Yet that craving, in the end, had taken her to 
the county town, to the office of the Independent . 
And this simple faith in the future had carried her to 
New York and finally three thousand miles across the 
Atlantic as far as Europe. Was this the hour to go 
back on the urge of nature? 

“If only you can stick it, the clouds will lift.” She 
didn’t know where the voice came from, but those 
familiar words sounded clear as a bell. Yes, she must 
stick it. That was what life was for: to keep a stiff 
upper lip; to face your luck; to go down fighting. 

While she stood gazing at a model of a Cunarder in 
the window of the shipping company, she was quick¬ 
ened by new power. Whence it came there was no 
means of knowing; but just behind her was Trafalgar 
Square, and the lions, and the mighty column a grate¬ 
ful nation had raised to the memory of a Nelson even 
more remarkable than the brother of her grandmother. 
Sure, it must have been from the top of that monu¬ 
ment the thought wave had come. 


8 o 


THERE IS A TIDE 


She appeared to be borne on the wings of inspira¬ 
tion. The time was not yet to give in. She would stay 
another week. But an effort of the will was needed to 
leave that too-enticing window. She crossed the road 
as leisurely as the taxis and the buses would permit; 
yet brain and heart were in conflict as she entered 
Pall Mall. 

Outside the Carlton she paused. A line of smart 
cars was disgorging brilliant occupants. Marne stood 
wistfully in the shadow of the portico, observing, as she 
had done so many times in the last seven months, the 
life of ease, luxury and wealth from the outside. She 
felt like a peri at the gates of Paradise. If once she 
could gain a footing within those charmed portals, the 
capacity was surely hers to enjoy their delights. 

This evening her thoughts seemed to make her des¬ 
perate. Never had the spirit of adventure burned so 
high. It was her duty to count every dime, but this 
day, take it altogether, was the worst she had met since 
landing in England. She was fed to the teeth with 
disappointment and the sense of just being out of 
things. There had been too much cold shoulder. But 
there was money still in her purse. 

Before she realized what she was doing, she was 
mingling with the smart mob and passing through the 
revolving doors. As the delicate strains of an or¬ 
chestra caught her ear, her little head went up and she 
began to move more freely. She considered herself 
to be very well dressed, if a little “tossed” from a series 
of rides on the roof of divers plebeian buses. Even 


THERE IS A TIDE 


81 


if she was down on her luck she was free, white and 
twenty-one. And she could pay her shot; therefore 
she had a right to show her nose among the plutes. 

The large room, on whose threshold Marne found 
herself, without quite knowing how she got there, 
seemed to be full already. Very distinguished-looking 
females and equally distinguished-looking males were 
standing around, in twos and threes. They were scan¬ 
ning, as it were, the far horizon for vacant tables. 

Vacant tables, however, there were none. It was 
the hour when the theatre matinees yield up their tea- 
thirsty patrons. Standing room only appeared to be 
the order of the moment. And truth to tell, Marne 
did not feel altogether displeased. If she found a seat 
at one of those seductive little tables, it would mean 
half a crown at the very least. And in the present 
state of Wall Street half a crown was money. 

This was pusillanimity. She was out for adventure. 
And she really wanted tea. Something in the much- 
abused British climate seems to call for tea at five 
o'clock. Therefore Marne's slim little body began to 
insinuate itself nearer the cups and saucers and the 
elegant confectionery; whereas bodies less slim and 
not so little remained outside the sphere of their in¬ 
fluence. 

Gazing around on the crowded scene, Marne awoke 
to the fact that an extremely smart-looking girl, seated 
alone some two tables off, and smoking a cigarette in 
a long meerschaum holder, had fixed a demure eye upon 
her. Some little time it had been there, but Marne 


82 


THERE IS A TIDE 


did not know that. Every detail was taken in already 
by a glance candid yet wary. Clothes, hat, eyes, chin, 
the face of wistful emotion: Mame was a rare butter¬ 
fly with quaint markings, a new specimen for the net 
of a collector. Suddenly the girl’s eye caught Marne’s. 
She coolly signalled with the meerschaum holder that 
there was room at her table. 

As Mame moved towards it she was ready to believe, 
such was this smart girl’s easy air, that she had been 
mistaken for one of her friends. Mame felt that she 
must bear a likeness to somebody else. But no, this 
was not the case. The girl at once began to treat her 
choice “find” with the off-hand courtesy which seemed 
to be her attitude towards the world at large. 

She lifted a muff, a real sable affair, from a seat 
near by in order to free a chair. As Mame subsided 
into it with her politest thanks, the girl looked at her 
shrewdly and then said in a casual voice, “You want 
a waiter.” 

Before Mame could take steps to get a waiter, her 
new friend, who was full of cheery competence, had 
attracted one. Her manner of doing so was in no wise 
aggressive, yet it was quite successful. The last word 
in waiters, all smiles and all ears, soon materialised at 
Marne’s elbows. 

“I can recommend the crumpets. They’re very good 
to-day.” The girl followed her genial information with 
something in Italian or French to the waiter which 
Mame did not understand. It was probably Italian, 
for the waiter was an undoubted Wop. He crisply 


THERE IS A TIDE 


83 

brushed the tablecloth with his napkin, arranged cup 
and saucer, knife and plate upon it, and then went 
smilingly off to execute Marne’s order. 

“Some folks around,” said Marne conversationally. 

“A regular beehive.” The girl had a slow, deep 
smile which at the sound of Marne’s voice began to 
grow. 

“All the old-timers, I’ll say, from way back.” 

At that remark the girl laughed outright, but in a 
way that was friendly. Marne felt encouraged to let 
her tongue run. 

“Say, listen, who is the dame with the auburn wig 
and the Roman nose?” 

“Ah, you mean the old dreadnought.” The meer¬ 
schaum holder tactfully indicated the next table but 
one where the personage in question sat in state. 
“Eighty-five if an hour. Blind as a bat, deaf as a mole, 
but worth looking at, I always think.” 

Marne’s laugh chimed with the girl’s. The old 
dreadnought, in a Victorian bonnet and mantle, with 
a nose standing off from a craggy face like a handle 
from a door, was a type. Marne was so much inter¬ 
ested that she repeated her question. 

“Old Duchess Hattie,” said the girl lightly. “Every¬ 
body in England knows her. Among other things 
she’s my godmother.” 

“Oh!” said Marne. Warily and at once she with¬ 
drew her gaze from the ancient duchess to this new 
friend who claimed her for a godmother. Involun¬ 
tarily her fingers clutched her vanity bag to make sure 


8 4 


THERE IS A TIDE 


it was still on her wrist. London as well as New York 
had its four-flushers. Mame looked at the girl oppo¬ 
site with a new curiosity. 

Was she the real thing? Or was she merely putting 
one over on an obvious simp? Certainly she was 
smart. And if not exactly a looker, she had heaps 
of style. Besides she had these high-grade waiters 
feeding from the hand. The Wop had already inter¬ 
rupted these deep reflections with Bohea in a china 
pot and crumpets fairly sizzling in butter. 

Followed more conversation in Italian. The girl 
then fitted an eyeglass, very neat and inconspicuous, 
into her right eye and glanced at the programme of 
music. “Don’t you think we might have the Rosen- 
cavalier instead of this thing of Massenet’s for num¬ 
ber seven?” She looked at Mame. But Mame, out 
of her depth, merely looked at the waiter. “Yes, I 
think so.” The girl provided the answer for herself. 
“Give my compliments to M’sieu.” She turned quietly 
to the Wop as if she owned him and continued her 
speech in Italian. 

Virgilio bowed gracefully and made his way up the 
room towards the band. 

Mame, under cover of a bold attack on a crumpet, 
furtively watched her new friend. She was puzzled 
and fascinated by her. This bird was something new. 
Her clothes were of the best yet they were not startling. 
Even her eyeglass and her^ meerschaum cigarette 
holder, remarkable in any one else, did not seem out of 
the picture. Her talk was lively and clever; her atti- 


THERE IS A TIDE 


85 

tude towards that world which ordinary people only 
read about in the newspapers was one of an amused 
familiarity; yet her manners were neither boastful nor 
loud. If four-flusher she was, and Marne felt she must 
be, it was a more subtle breed than any which had 
crossed her path up to now. 

For the pleasure of drawing the girl out and per¬ 
haps in the hope that she would give herself away in 
a handful large enough to set all doubts at rest, Marne 
tentatively said over the edge of a teacup, while mark¬ 
ing the new acquaintance very closely indeed: “I 
s’pose you know all the folks.” 

“More or less.” 

Somehow it was not the answer Marne expected. 
A real four-flusher would have posed a bit in making 
it. She would have struck something of an attitude, 
and tried to look like an oil painting of a First Family. 
But this girl didn’t. Paula Wyse Ling, who had spent 
two whole years studying European society and was 
now beginning to get her stuff into some of the best 
journals in America, would never have answered such 
a question in that casual style. Paula would have 
preened her feathers and with her voice right up would 
have looked down her long nose and said: “Oh, yes, 
I have had the privilege of meeting some quite good 
people.” 

Suddenly Marne’s eye lit on one other appurtenance 
of this new friend which hitherto had escaped it. Peep¬ 
ing in the oddest way out of a fashionable sleeve was 
the tiniest imaginable Pekingese. The sight of the 


86 


THERE IS A TIDE 


quaint creature was so unexpected and its air of dig¬ 
nified aloofness so entirely charming that Mame could 
not repress her delight. 

“Ain’t he just cute!” She proceeded to offer sugar. 

The small beast gazed haughtily at Mame. And then 
disdaining the sugar in a most aloof manner, retired 
at least six inches further into the sleeve of his mis¬ 
tress. 

“Rather nice, isn’t he? But always apt to be stiff 
and formal unless he feels he’s been properly intro¬ 
duced. You see he’s a Chinese emperor’s sleeve-dog 
and his pedigree goes right back with a click to the 
First Ming Dynasty.” 

“What’s his name?” asked Mame partly for the sake 
of conversation, partly to show that she was impressed. 

“Fu Ching Wei. He was given me by the Em¬ 
peror of Manchuria when I attended his coronation 
last year at Mukden.” 

In the opinion of Mame this was overdoing it. This 
girl was certainly trying to put one over on her. And 
Mame had already come to like her so much, although 
to be sure she had only known her five minutes, that 
she felt sorry. If one must pull that sort of guff, one 
might at least take pains and do it with art. Among 
“all the folks” whom Mame had supposed this girl 
knew, emperors had not been included. 


XII 


“VOU ain’t a newspaper girl, I’ll say?” Mame 
opened cautiously. 

“Yes.” The new acquaintance replenished casually 
the meerschaum holder. 

She wrote for the papers. It was by way of being 
a solution of the mystery. What these Britishers 
called a journalist. But a four-flusher all the same. 
Yet Mame could not help liking her. There was some¬ 
thing so forthcoming, something so unstudied. She 
was so much more natural than Paula Ling. You felt 
with Paula that if you knew her a hundred years she 
would never let you catch her with her hair down or 
without her pinko. But this girl was different. 

“What journals you write for?” 

“For a syndicate mostly.” 

“A syndicate.” Mame blinked. Her strong finan¬ 
cial instinct automatically got busy. “Then you pull 
the big sthff, I guess ?” 

“Bread and butter.” As the bloated pluralist spoke 
she took a piece from the plate in front of her and 
offered it delicately to Fu Ching Wei. 

The haughty animal suspiciously curled a lip and 
then condescended to eat. “Nice, isn’t he?” His mis¬ 
tress tickled gently the top of his head. 

87 


88 


THERE IS A TIDE 


“Describe coronations for Reuter’s Agency?” Marne 
threw out a feeler. The subject fascinated her. And 
though the mistress of Fu Ching Wei might be a pal¬ 
pable bluffer, there was still a chance that she was one 
of the mandarins of the profession into which Marne 
herself was dying to force an entrance. 

Awe was in Marne’s voice as she asked the question. 
Awe there was none in the careless voice that answered 
it. “Describe any old toomarsh from a dog fight to 
a royal marriage. Not that one does those stunts 
often, although one gets about the world sometimes.” 

“What’s your line, then?” Marne tried hard to 
mask her curiosity. But rather conspicuously she 
failed. 

“As a rule I write up the tea shops and hat shops 
and the restaurants and the big stores. And I do the 
books and plays for the women’s illustrateds.” 

“But you do the big marriages too, I guess ?’* 
Marne’s voice throbbed. 

“Not often. All marriages are so much alike they 
bore one.” 

Marne’s expressive countenance showed that she 
could not imagine herself being bored by doing mar¬ 
riages. “I’d just love that.” 

“Love what?” The girl tickled the ear of Fu 
Ching Wei with the meerschaum holder. 

“I’d love to do the real class marriages for real 
class papers.” 

The girl gave a shrug that Paula Wyse Ling would 


THERE IS A TIDE 89 

never have permitted herself. But natural elegance 
carried it off. 

Was she still putting it over on her? Or was she 
just trying to cheek her? Not that it mattered. Even 
if she was a regular queen of bluffers, she was also by 
a long sight the most interesting creature Marne had 
yet found in London. 

So far the girl had left to Marne the business of 
asking questions. But in spite of an air of nonchalance, 
which Marne rather admired, she was not above putting 
one or two questions of her own. 

“Are you a writing person?” she said, offering Fu 
Ching Wei a little milk in a saucer. 

“You said it.” Of all the reams Marne had written 
since trekking east hardly a line had found its way into 
print; but that did not prevent her taking pride in the 
fact that the pen was her vocation. She hesitated a 
moment. Then she opened her bag and produced a 
card. 

By now she knew enough of the newspaper walks 
of Britain to doubt the worth of this bit of pasteboard. 
At first it had given her real pleasure to display it. But 
she had now reached the phase when she was not sure 
that her card was not where she got off. 

Still, there was nothing to lose by shooting it upon 
this girl. It would be trying it, as it were, upon the 
dog. This smart skirt was the top of her class. No 
matter what she might be, she was just as full of style 
as she could hold. It would be worth while to note 
the effect of a rather doubtful talisman upon her. 


90 


THERE IS A TIDE 


She did not say so, nor did her manner betray the 
fact, but it was a sure thing that she had never heard 
of Cowbarn or its leading newspaper. But Mame liked 
the kind and friendly way she handed back the card 
with the remark: “You’re in journalism too, I see.” 

No lugs. No frills. By her own account she was a 
he-one at the game. It had been Marne’s instinct to 
doubt that, but this tone of pleasant quietness, this 
we’re-all-friends-round-the-darned-old-inkpot style was 
something new. This bird who was dressed to the 
nines, and who behaved as if she just naturally owned 
London, seemed to be quite disarmed by the European 
Correspondent of the Cowbarn Independent. 

Without getting gay or in any wise familiar, she 
became as chatty as if she and Mame had begun their 
young lives together at the same convent school. It 
was clear that Mame had aroused her interest. The 
questions she put were shrewd and the answers she 
received amused her. 

Mame asked if she knew the States. 

She got over there sometimes. “Great fun, the 
U. S., I always think. Don’t you?” 

Mame had never found the land of her fathers great 
fun, but she had far too much pride in it to say so. 

“The U. S. is so progressive.” 

“You said it.” 

The girl had a lot to say of America. And every 
word was well disposed, without any touch of con¬ 
descension. 

“Stay, I guess, with the Vanderbilts and the Astors 


THERE IS A TIDE 


9i 

when you visit New York?” Mame threw a plummet 
to bring her down to cases. 

“The MacFarlanes are my particular friends.” She 
spoke off-handedly. “And they always give one such 
a good time.” 

“I’ll say, yes,” Mame remarked drily. She was not 
quite clear in her mind whether the madam could be 
allowed to get away with that. She would be saying 
next that in London her headquarters were Bucking¬ 
ham Palace. 

The girl produced a cigarette case. It was a won¬ 
derful piece of chinoiserie in flowered purple silk. 
“Have a gasper?” 

Mame had yet to acquire the habit of smoking 
gaspers. She declined with thanks. But the girl fitted 
an amber-scented one to the meerschaum holder so 
elegantly, that Mame decided to practise the art at the 
first opportunity. Paula Ling had said that it was 
even more chic in Europe than it was on Long Island. 
As usual Paula Ling was right. 

While Mame, out of the corners of a pair of very 
seeing eyes, marked all that the smart piece did, she 
took a resolve to start in at once to develop her own 
personality. Here was terrific personality. It did not 
in any sense obtrude; it did not sort of hit you right 
in the middle of the eye, as Paula’s did, but it was there 
all the time. Moreover, it was earning dividends for 
its owner. This skirt was not in the true sense of the 
word a looker, but there was jazz in her talk, in her 
actions, in all her ways. She did not paint her face, 


92 


THERE IS A TIDE 


use lip-stick or bead her eyes; in clothes, although 
Mame guessed they were as good as could be got for 
money, she was quiet; but her general effect was as salt 
as a breeze from the sea. Mame could but envy and 
admire and wonder how the trick was done. 

“Staying long in England?” 

‘Til have to get off this side of the world pretty 
soon now.” Mame spoke a little wistfully. 

Without seeming to look at Mame, the girl, from 
behind the rampart of the meerschaum holder, must 
somehow have read the true index to her feelings. 
That index was Marne’s eyes. Very good eyes they 
were; and, unknown to their owner, singularly ex¬ 
pressive. Grey eyes, large, serious, open, full of 
trouble. For all the orbs behind the meerschaum 
holder were so impersonal, when as now they were 
three-quarters lidded, they had a power of seeing into 
things that might have astonished Mame considerably 
had she known the full extent of their faculty. 

“Anything I can do for you?” 

It was one British journalist to one American or 
vice versa: a bit of international courtesy. But to 
Mame it was more. There was a genuine ring of 
kindness, as pure a note of music as Mame had yet 
heard. 

Her practical mind at once got busy. This might 
be a chance. Bluffer as this girl most likely was, there 
could yet be no harm in trying her out. 

“Before I go back home,” said Mame, tentative as 
a kitten treading on ice; “I’d like an invite to some 


THERE IS A TIDE 


93 

mansion of real class. I’d like to do a big wedding 
for my paper.” 

“Do you mean this function next week at Clan- 
borough House?” The girl was journalist enough to 
own a mind which could move with uncommon nim¬ 
bleness. 

“You’ve made it in one.” Quick in the uptake, 
this bird. Marne was moved to say so. 

“My dear Watson, really quite simple.” The 
meerschaum holder received a Sherlock Holmes tilt. 
“George Rex and Consort are going to honour the 
occasion. You saw it in the Times this morning.” 

Marne breathed hard. This girl was no slouch. A 
four-flusher, yet she might have strings to pull. And 
it would be one over on Paula Ling if a little hick 
from Cowbarn, Iowa, got playing around among the 
royalties; not to mention the Fleet Street gentleman 
who had said the only way she would get to Clanbor- 
ough House would be as a hired girl. The insult still 
rankled. 

“A dull affair!” The new friend butted pleasantly 
into a rather tense pause. “But I ought to have a 
card somewhere that may get you in, if you care to 
come.” 

Marne’s heart seemed to miss a beat when the girl 
began a search for an invitation to the terribly be- 
paragraphed wedding the following week at Clanbor- 
ough House. 

“Should be one here.” Calmly she produced the 
beautiful cigarette case. Something leapt in Marne’s 


94 


THERE IS A TIDE 


throat as the entire contents of the case were toppled 
out on to the tablecloth. There were half a dozen 
cigarettes and twice that number of cards of various 
shapes and sizes. 

“Private view Black-and-white Exhibition, Bur¬ 
lington House.” Mame was seething with suspense, 
but the girl went calmly and leisurely through the 
cards. “Arts and Handicrafts Exhibition. Admit 
Bearer. British and Foreign Bible Society. Randal 
Cantuar in the Chair. Opening of Royal School of 
Cookery, New Wandsworth. Annual Meeting Dumb 
Friends' League. Reception for Dr. Hyam Baines 
Pennefather, Baltimore Third Church, Hotel Cecil. 
No—yes—no. It almost looks as if we’ve drawn 
zero.” 

Marne’s heart sank. It was no more than was to be 
expected of a tinhorn, but it would have been cracker- 
jack to have sailed into Clanborough House by the 
main entrance, along with the King and Queen and 
half the real doughnuts in the island. 

She bit her lip with disappointment, yet at the back 
of her mind was the knowledge that these things did 
not happen. They were too good to be true. But the 
melancholy privilege still remained to one who aspired 
to close and accurate observation of the human comedy 
of seeing what the four-flusher would do next. 

The girl coolly returned the contents to the lovely 
silk case. And then she said in that casual tone which 
Mame was now beginning to resent rather more than 
she admired: “Give me your address.” 


THERE IS A TIDE 


95 


Part of her bluff, of course. Still Mame saw no 
reason why her address should not be given. Truth to 
tell, she was just a little proud of it. Like many things 
in this queer city, it sounded better than it was. She 
promptly took from her bag a decidedly professional¬ 
looking reporter’s note-book, tore out a leaf, and then 
wrote carefully with an equally professional-looking 
fountain pen: Miss Amethyst Du Ranee, Fotheringay 
House, Montacute Square, Bloomsbury. 

“Thanks,” said the smart skirt. Then she gave a 
glance, cool and impassive, at what Mame had written; 
and, then, with a lurking smile, which Mame was quick 
to detect, she added this memento to the others which 
adorned her case. 

“I’ll be glad of an invite for Clanborough House,” 
said Mame with irony. 

“Right-o. You shall have one in the course of post.” 

“I don’t think,” Mame confided mutely to the dregs 
of her teacup. And then she said with a demure mock¬ 
ery that was rooted in the heart’s bitterness, “I reckon 
you’ll be there. 

The answer was “Sure” in the way it is given in 
New York. Perhaps the high-flyer guessed that Mame 
was trying to call her bluff. Yet beyond a doubt she 
carried it off royally. “I suppose I’ll have to be.” 

“To write a report for your syndicate.” Marne’s 
voice had something terribly like a sneer in it. 

The girl laughed and shook her head. “This binge 
is a bit too much of a family affair.” 


THERE IS A TIDE 


96 

“Oh!” said Mame inadequately. It was not easy to 
call the bluff of this girl. 

While Mame, who had now begun to feel vindictive, 
was seriously considering the best means of letting this 
short-sport know that she was not quite such a sucker 
as she seemed, a young man who had just risen from 
an adjacent table came stalking her stealthily from 
behind. He patted her on the shoulder. 

“Hulloa, Bill!” The tone was very light and whim¬ 
sical. “I didn’t see the cat bring you in.” 

Mame listened keenly for Bill’s answer. But it 
amounted to nothing beyond a cheery laugh. All the 
same, she was mightily interested in Bill. 

He was dressed to beat the band: braided morning 
coat, white spats, the last word in neckties. Evidently 
a regular fellow. He was one of those upstanding, 
handsome boys in which the West End of London 
seems to abound. Perhaps he was twenty-seven, or a 
little less, with a skin naturally fair burnt to a most 
attractive shade of copper by the suns of foreign climes. 
There was something so wholesome and clean, so manly 
and trim about Bill, that even a girl of sense might be 
expected to fall in love with him on sight. Mame was 
not in a position to think of love. But he looked such 
a white man, and so faultless in his grace that even as 
it was she could not repress a little sigh of envy. Some 
girls didn’t appreciate their luck in having boys of that 
sort feeding from the hand. 

“Going?” Mame heard him say. 

The queen of the four-flushers answered with an 


THERE IS A TIDE 


97 

unmistakable “Yep” which might have come from the 
Bowery. She went on to discard her cigarette, to put 
away her meerschaum holder and then to examine the 
inside of her purse. “Dammitall!” she said. “No 
change and I must leave a shilling under the plate for 
the waiter. Have you one about you, Bill?” 

Bill obliged. The girl laid the shilling under her 
plate and got up from the table. As she did so she 
turned abruptly to Marne and held out her hand in a 
most winning manner. “A-rivederci. I have your 
address. I won’t forget that card. So glad to have 
met you.” 

While Marne returned doubtful thanks for a favour 
she did not expect to receive, the girl and her escort 
were already under way. With mingled feelings Marne 
watched them pass along the line of tables. She saw 
the girl blow a kiss to the old woman with the Roman 
nose, who in return offered a most truculent scowl. 
But this was effaced by the homage of the maitre d’hotel, 
who bestowed upon the girl an exaggerated bow. 
Moreover, as she made a smiling progress down the 
long room, many eyes seemed to follow her; or, as 
Marne was inclined to think, the eyes of the feminine 
section of the tea-drinking public were drawn by the 
escort Bill. 

Indeed, as a pair they were distinctly “it” as they 
went along to the door. The girl stopped at several 
tables just to pass the time of day, while Bill stood by 
like a big and amiable Newfoundland dog. 

Marne sighed again. Yes, some skirts had luck! 


THERE IS A TIDE 


98 

Up till that moment she had not realised the possibilities 
in writing for the newspapers. She would get no card, 
of course, for Clanborough House. But she was 
already resigned to that. Birds of that sort were much 
too busy paddling their private canoes. And why not ? 
You simply got nowhere if you didn’t. 

When the girl finally went out through the doors 
at the end of the room Marne was sure that she had 
seen and heard the last of her. That was the way of 
the world as already she had come to understand it. 
The big cities were chock-full of interesting folks, but 
unless you were just-so it was not worth while to take 
you up. 

To be worth while, that was the open sesame to New 
York and London. Paula Ling had grasped that truth. 
That was why she was a mass of paint and powder and 
patchouli; that was why she screwed herself like a 
manikin, into tight smart clothes. But this skirt left 
Paula standing. The Paulas of life, for all their brains 
and their will-power, could not live five minutes with 
this sort of girl, who had every new trick, and who, 
like Cinquevalli the famous conjurer, was so expert she 
could almost do them shut-eye. 

So much was Marne occupied with these thoughts 
that it was not until she had paid her bill and was out 
once more upon the cold pavement of Pall Mall that 
she gave herself a mental shake. She was a fool. Had 
she kept her wits about her she would at least have 
asked the waiter the name of this queen among four- 
flushers. 


XIII 


ft AME had quite made up her mind that she would 
-*“*-*• not receive an invitation to the wedding recep¬ 
tion at Clanborough House. Why should she? That 
the girl would prove as good as her word was not on 
the cards. Such a promise was no more than a slick 
Londoner’s way of showing how much she was in it, 
without really being quite so much in it as she showed. 

After all, however, it is a funny world. And this 
was Marne’s reflection, when rather late the following 
afternoon, the little maid, whose name was Janet, 
handed her a large, square, important-looking envelope 
that had just come by post. At the sight of the coronet 
on the back and the general air of quality Marne’s 
heart gave a jump. 

The unexpected had happened. Her Grace the 
Duchess of Clanborough requested the honour—re¬ 
quested the honour, mark you!—of the company of 
Miss Amethyst Du Ranee at the marriage of the Mar¬ 
quis of Belfield with her niece Miss Van Alsten at St. 
Margaret’s, Westminster, at three o’clock on Thursday, 
April 6, and afterwards at Clanborough House, May- 
fair. 

It was very odd. But it was distinctly thrilling. 
There was no need to be so humble after all. The girl 
99 


IOO 


THERE IS A TIDE 


evidently was interested in Miss Du Ranee and had 
gone out of her way to do her a service. And Miss 
Du Ranee did not mind owning that she had been a 
little too ready to suspect her of not being on the level. 

With a sensation of deep but quiet triumph Marne 
listened now to the tabbies faintly purring over their 
teacups. It called for self-control not to ask the arch¬ 
puss, who gave herself out a bishop’s niece, upon whom 
Marne had an especial down, whether she was going 
to the ceremony at St. Margaret’s or to the reception at 
Clanborough House, or whether she meant to do both ? 
—although privately quite sure that the old stiff was 
going to do neither. Happily she remembered a text 
of the village preacher in the grim days when she had 
to endure him every Sunday: “Be not exalted lest ye be 
cast down.” 

In spite of a glow in the centre of her being, the 
warning in those words could not have been more salu¬ 
tary. So fully had Clanborough House been dismissed 
from Marne’s thoughts that she had already made up 
her mind to quit London as soon as possible. In fact, 
she had just informed Mrs. Toogood that she would 
not require a room beyond Saturday; and she had 
decided to go immediately after breakfast to-morrow 
morning, Wednesday, to book a second-class berth in 
the Vittoria, which was to sail three days later for New 
York. 

The invitation to Clanborough House looked like 
changing all that. It rather set Marne on the horns 
of a dilemma. A girl truly wise would stick to the 


THERE IS A TIDE 


IOI 


plan she had made, the voice of prudence told her. 
Clanborough House would probably mean another fort¬ 
night in London; it would involve her in a new hat and 
other expense; and if she was not careful such a hole 
would be cut in her purse that alarmingly few dollars 
would remain in it by the time she found herself back 
on Broadway. 

These reflections gave Marne a jolt. A lot of use an 
invite to Clanborough House, if the price of it brought 
you to your uppers. Aunt Lou’s legacy would be gone, 
along with the hundred and ten dollars she had been 
able to save. Her job would be lost. And in a place 
like New York it was no certainty that she would get 
another at short notice. She had heard it described by 
those who should know as the crudest place on earth 
for persons who were up against it. 

These were problems. Invitation in hand, Marne 
fiercely considered them. Should she ? Or should she 
not? The famous highbrow William Shakespeare, 
according to the office calendar whose mottoes she had 
by heart, the famous highbrow William Shakespeare 
had made the statement that “there is a tide in the 
affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, leads on to 
fortune.” 

It might be so. That was true, no doubt, for some. 
But again, for others it was quite likely not to be true. 
Circumstances alter cases. William Shakespeare was 
writing in the spacious days of Queen Elizabeth when 
there were not so darn many go-getters around. In his 
time there were not more people than jobs and all the 


102 


THERE IS A TIDE 


seats in the public parks of the big cities were not over¬ 
flowing with those who couldn’t raise the price of a 
meal. 

A problem, sure. On the one hand, prudence, fore¬ 
sight, a looking-before-and-after; on the other, ambi¬ 
tion, hope, adventure, all the worth-while things. Such 
a chance would never recur. And if she had brain 
enough to use it in the right way, there was no saying 
where it might lead. 

Marne spent a very restless night. But somewhere 
in the small hours, when her mind was at its most lucid, 
she took the momentous decision to follow her star. 

If she turned back now, with the gates of her king¬ 
dom opening wide, she never deserved to see them 
again. “Stick it, Marne.” That had always been her 
slogan, even in the cold hour of sun-up before the day’s 
work began or over a guttering candle after it was 
done, when secretly she gave her whole mind to the 
hard and dry study of stenography. 

It was that power of giving her whole mind to things 
that in the end had won freedom. If she had taken a 
line of least resistance or been afraid to go all out for 
the things she wanted, she would still have been doing 
chores upon the farm. No, she must stand up to her 
luck. And if the worst came she could go home 
steerage. 

Full of new resolve, Marne’s first act was to inform 
Mrs. Toogood that she proposed to stay on at least 
another week. Then, after an elaborate calculation of 
ways and means, she set out on a tour of Oxford 


THERE IS A TIDE 


103 

Street. A new hat she must have. When in Rome, 
etc. No use looking a frump at Clanborough House. 
She would be mixing with class. And if she was care¬ 
ful how she dressed and she watched her step all the 
time, the folks might not be able to tell her from real. 

A quiet mode was best suited to Miss Amethyst Du 
Ranee. After much observation of herself and other 
people, that was her conclusion. Like most of her 
countrywomen she had a flair in the matter of clothes. 
New York and London had taught her their value. 
Already she was getting to know the worth of the 
mysterious attribute, style. 

The girl she had met at the Carlton was a revelation 
of what style could do. It was a far better thing than 
mere looks. But Marne’s ambition was to have both. 
And if she could only fulfil it, there was no reason, so 
far as she could see, why she should not unlock the 
most exclusive doors in Britain. 

At all events, it should not be for want of trying. 
If the invite to Clanborough House meant anything it 
was that she had found a bonanza. The girl must be 
a regular high-flyer, and for some mysterious reason, 
which Marne could not fathom, she was willing to be 
a fairy godmother. It was up to Marne to prove her 
own mettle. Here, at last, was a chance to pull the 
big stuff. 

Many hours in Oxford Street were necessary before 
Marne’s prudence could decide just how much to be 
bled. She had to get home, if, in spite of Clanborough 


104 


THERE IS A TIDE 


House, the stars in their courses played her false. After 
she had duly paid for the hat on which she had set her 
heart, and a captivating fox so near real that she fell 
for it at the last moment, she was quite alarmed by the 
narrow margin of safety. 

At the end of the day she wrote an urgent letter to 
the editor of the Cowbarn Independent. She told him 
how disappointed she was not to have had a line all the 
time she had been in Europe. And she hinted that a 
few dollars in exchange for the fifteen columns she had 
already sent him would be welcome. 

But what was the Independent anyway? At best a 
fourth-rate sheet, a small-town rag. She would forget 
it. The time had surely come to fly at higher game. 

She tore up the letter to Elmer Dobree. His treat¬ 
ment was so mean he was not worth a twopenny stamp. 
Let her get into touch with the big live papers of New 
York, Philadelphia, Chicago. Yes, the idea was good. 
She was full of good ideas, yet they didn’t seem to 
click. 

What was wrong? Her stuff was O. K., she was 
sure. Full of jazz, unlike what other columnists were 
pulling. Yet editors didn’t fall. In New York she had 
not been able to get them so much as to look at what 
she wrote; it was the same in London. Influence was 
what she needed. Paula Ling was a one for influence. 
She believed in it all the time. But it had a mystic 
quality. Nobody knew just what it was or how you 
came by it. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


105 


Personality was the key. Modern journalising was 
like being in vaudeville or in the movies. You had to 
do stunts; you had to be a good mixer; able if necessary 
to jolly an editor into taking an interest in you; above 
all, you had to be up in the art of what in London they 
called dressing the shop window. 

As slowly she tore up the letter to Elmer P. she 
sighed deeply. Even he had deserted her. Well, never 
say die, that was still her motto. She must hang on by 
the eyelids to the bitter end. But she felt so sore with 
one whose friendship she had built on that she snatched 
his photograph from her bedroom chimneypiece and 
consigned it to her trunk. The stronger for the deed, 
she then resumed that optimistic pen which had yet to 
earn a dime in Europe and began a carefully diplomatic 
letter to Paula Wyse Ling. 

Out and out go-getter though Paula was, Marne 
valued her friendship. To be sure, it had only been 
manifested in small and considered ways. Paula was 
essentially a girl who didn’t give without taking; if she 
shared her bread with you, she would expect you to 
share your jam with her. But Marne didn’t blame her 
for that. Paula, too, had had a long way to go. She 
had started out at sixteen without a buck from what she 
alluded to as “a comic village in the State of Maine.” 
By sheer grit and the power of sticking it she had 
earned enough by her pen to spend two years in Europe. 
And now since her return home she was pulling five 
hundred a month, with every prospect of going bigger. 


io6 


THERE IS A TIDE 


Diplomacy was needed to handle the Paula Lings of 
the world. Mame kept this truth before her as her pen 
drove steadily on. She painted a rosy picture of her 
life in London. If not exactly what these Cockneys 
themselves would call “a Brock’s Benefit,” in other 
words, a firework display, she was already beginning 
to fix the half-nelson on various editors of distinction 
who paid a fair price per col. Also she was getting 
around a good deal with the worth-while folks. Her 
friend the Duchess of Clanborough had just sent her a 
special invite to a wedding ceremony and to the recep¬ 
tion afterwards, which the King and Queen had prom¬ 
ised to attend. Some marquis or other was going to 
marry a Miss Van Alsten; but Paula was likely to know 
as much about it as she did, as the Miss Van Alsten 
in question belonged to New York. 

Here it was that diplomacy entered with both feet. 
New York being just naturally interested in the mar¬ 
riage of one of its queens with a British blood-peer, 
Mame would be glad to do the show from the inside, 
with a full description of who was there, how they 
looked, what they wore, and so on; and if Paula could 
fix it her end with some editor or some syndicate of 
editors, she would be happy to divide the cheque. Time 
being money, she hoped Paula would save on it by 
promptly cabling terms. 

As Mame cast an eye over this letter, it seemed an 
inspiration to write Paula Ling and offer her fifty-fifty 
of the dough. If Paula couldn’t place the first-hand 


THERE IS A TIDE 


107 


account of next week’s marriage, it was not likely there 
was one alive who could. With a sly smile Marne ad¬ 
dressed the envelope to Paula’s apartment on Sixty- 
seventh Street. Then she slipped out and placed it 
carefully in the little red pillar box at the British 
Museum end of Montacute Square. 


XIV 



'HURSDAY was to be the day of days. But the 


“■* evening of Wednesday after a week of east winds, 
having settled into reasonably spring-like weather, 
Mame decided to give her new hat and fox an airing. 
It would take off a little of the shine; besides, she was 
burning to know how she looked and felt in things that 
had taxed her purse to capacity. 

Distinction, personality, taste, style, were the watch¬ 
words humming in her rather excited brain as she 
posed before the cracked mirror in her bedroom. This 
hat and fox had cost thirty-five berries in hard cold 
cash. And there was nothing much to show. Yet the 
fox looked so nearly like a fox for the money as it 
adorned her slim neck and the hat set off her shapely 
little head so well, that they gave her quite a tone. She 
would have to travel steerage now, but it was worth it. 
Thirty-five dollars’ worth of hat and fur did give you 
a feeling of Class. 

Lured by the fineness of the evening Mame went as 
far as Hyde Park. When Bus 29 set her down at the 
Marble Arch the clock upon it said twenty minutes past 
five. The promise of night was in the sky already. 
There were few people to observe Marne’s tasteful finery 
as she sauntered past the long line of empty chairs 


108 


THERE IS A TIDE 


109 

which ran the entire length of Park Lane as far as 
Apsley House. 

Hard by a statue whose naivete gave Mame a jolt, 
she turned off to the right and crossed the forsaken tan 
of Rotten Row. And in so doing her movements, un¬ 
known to herself, attracted the notice of two policemen, 
w’ho were standing on duty in the shadow of the trees. 

She took a seat, one of the many provided gratis by 
a paternal County Council for the worthy citizens of 
London, England. No one else was sitting around. 
There was excellent reason for their absence, although 
Mame did not know it. But she was about to be put 
wise. 

The path by whose edge Mame innocently sat was the 
most charming in London. It ran from Piccadilly to 
Kensington Gore and there was a time, not so long ago, 
when it was much frequented by people who knew what 
was what. Autres temps, autres moeurs. People who 
knew what was what were particularly careful now to 
keep the other side the park railings. Better be splashed 
from head to heel by the bounding taxi or the plebeian 
bus, better be jostled by a heedless mob, than to take 
a chance of being run in. 

The zealots of the Metropolitan Force had closed 
London’s most alluring path to all people of sense, but 
Mame did not know that. And she was not to blame. 
But just one other there was among all the millions of 
Cockaigne who at that moment appeared to share her 
ignorance. Blame in his case is a delicate question. 

Truly a rather wonderful old bird. He was of the 


no 


THERE IS A TIDE 


sort to be seen only in cathedral cities, and then but one 
at a time; always providing that some many-and-por- 
tentous-syllabled conference is not in session when this 
rare bird may be seen in his battalions. 

In this case he was solus. Far wiser he, had his lady 
wife or some authentic church-worker accompanied him 
from St. James’s Vicarage, where he had been to call 
upon the incumbent, to the chapter house at Knights- 
bridge. His like are the natural prey of those who 
lurk at dusk in the shrubberies of Hyde Park. There 
was something in his shovel hat, all rosetted and 
beribanded, in his decent black apron, in the neat many- 
buttoned gaiters which set off his comely legs that no 
self-respecting London policeman could resist. He did 
not seem to know that, this adventurous old boy. Or 
perhaps feeling himself to be like Caesar’s wife he was 
so foolhardy as not to worry. 

Marne had just taken her seat under the trees which 
grace the Forbidden Path. She was wondering how 
awfully well she must look in her new hat and fox, 
how full of lugs and yet of quietness, in a word, how 
exceedingly Class; she was wondering, too, how she 
could best develop her personality, so that London, 
England, should know her for what she was—one of 
the bright intellects of the U. S.—when cheu! this per¬ 
fectly amazing old lady of the village came into her ken. 

He did more than come into her ken; he filled the 
entire range of her vision. Fully absorbed in his recent 
heart-to-heart talk with the liberal-minded friends he 
had left at the Vicarage, he was not conscious that 


THERE IS A TIDE 


hi 


Mame was there. As for Mame, the mere contiguity 
of this old john charmed her to a smile. 

That smile was Marne’s undoing. Thoughts on style 
and personality banished for the nonce, her eyes were 
fixed on the slowly receding form of the Moderator of 
the Metropolitan First Church of London, England, or 
its equivalent, when two policemen, young, rampant, 
red-haired, sprang from the bushes. They lacked the 
irresponsibility of the glad Irish peelers who lend such 
zip to New York. These charming fellows happened 
to be Scots. But they had their way to make in the 
wicked Saxon world. Here was their chance. 

‘‘Did he speak to ye?” demanded the First Cop in a 
hoarse, stern tone. 

The sudden onset of the police brought up Mame 
with a round turn. She had read that the homely Lon¬ 
don bobby was the admiration of the civilised world. 
So far, she was bound to own, she liked him. He was 
human and kindly, simple and bland. But to have the 
wind put up in this manner by a brace of raw Scots was 
a bit too much. For the moment she felt quite 
flustered. 

“Come again.” Her drawl was rather startled. “I 
don’t get you.” 

“Why was ye giving him the glad eye ?” Thus the 
Second Cop. And he seemed to add to Marne’s per¬ 
plexity. 

A moment’s thought was fuel for a growing in¬ 
dignation. Dating from Detective Addelsee’s bad 
break she was going to have a down on cops of all 


II2 


THERE IS A TIDE 


nationalities for the rest of her days. In spite of their 
air of fanaticism, which was more than a little danger¬ 
ous, this pair of boobs was unmistakably “for it”—as 
the English say. 

“I’m a very respectable girl.” 

Both constables had a sneer for Marne’s respecta¬ 
bility. 

“Oh, run away and play,” she advised. “Run away 
to Mamma.” 

It may have been Marne’s coolness, the growing 
truculence of her eyes, the scorn of her lips, or her 
choice of words, but the two zealots began sensibly to 
draw in their horns. 

Personality, no doubt. For as soon as the owner of 
the new hat and fox could bring her guns into action 
the Force had an attack of pause. 

“Beat it. Hop it.” The grey eyes flashed. “Don’t 
you dare get gay with me.” 

Z 9 and Z 23 retired a few paces and conferred. A 
moment later they were fading discreetly away in the 
twilight. 

Marne was left mistress of the field. But the inci¬ 
dent rankled. Why could not a peaceful American 
citizeness enjoy the beauty of the evening and develop 
her personality without being shoved around in this 
way? 

She heard the clocks of the neighbourhood chime six. 
And then, still ruffled, she left her seat and slowly made 
her way across the park towards bus Route 29. Alas! 
she had not gone far when she overtook a couple of 


THERE IS A TIDE 


113 

elegant tunics. They were strolling twenty yards or so 
ahead, but even at this distance they were familiar. 

On the inspiration of the moment she quickened her 
pace. Hearing a scrunch of footsteps on the gravel 
path, one of the cops half turned to look at her as she 
came up. 

“Say, officer!” Marne’s gasp was all excitement: 
she would have known that sandy-haired, sharp-nosed 
rube among ten thousand of his kind. “Say, listen, 
officer!” An imperative hand was laid on an immacu¬ 
late sleeve. “I seena mutt without his jeans.” 

The words were intended to convey an impression 
of rusticity which, if anything, was overdone. Both 
bobbies turned as one towards her. Upon their faces 
was incomprehension grave and dour. 

For the credit of the Metropolitan Force, however, 
the Second Cop was a young man of ripe experience. 
In fact, he was wearing the Zeebrugge Medal. At the 
end of 1919 he had been paid off from the Navy, after 
a brief but honourable career; in the spring of 1921 
he had first donned the elegant tunic with belt and 
whistle complete whose accomplished wearers are the 
admiration of the world. There was a hiatus of sixteen 
months in his record which had been filled by slinging 
hash in a Chicago eating joint. Just as soon as he was 
able to hitch back his mind to that glad time, and with 
Marne’s intonation to help him, the process took rather 
less than thirty seconds, he knew where he was. 

Emotion flamed suddenly in the eye of the Second 
Cop. He turned to the First Cop and spoke urgent 


114 THERE IS A TIDE 

words. Both zealots squared their shoulders and tight¬ 
ened their belts. 

“Whaur did ye see him ?” The demand of Z 9 was 
tense and stern. 

Marne laid a finger to her lip. '‘Mind you don’t 
scare the guy.” 

It was a superfluous caution. Both constables looked 
ready to creep through an alderman’s thumb ring with¬ 
out making a sound. 

Marne turned left. Her escort followed. The 
ground was admirably chosen. Immediately in front 
was a small newspaper kiosk, now padlocked for the 
night; and just beyond was that work of art, in all its 
naivete, which had lately administered a shock to 
Marne’s moral nature. 

Her forefinger drew a bead on the guilty object. 
“You better take that bo and put him in the pen.” 

The boobs did not muster half a smile between them. 

“Don’t be silly!” Z 9 spoke severely. “Don’t ye 
knaw that’s the Ache-iles Statcher?” 

“Can that!” Marne looked from one dour face to 
the other; her lip took its most expressive curl. “Tell 
King George from me I am surprised. Ache-iles 
Statcher! I’ll write straight home to our Purity 
League.” 


XV 


/ T V HE next morning, when Mame drew up her blind, 
there was abundant promise of royal weather. 
The great day was ushered in by one of those light 
mists which mask a sky of flawless blue. In London, 
England, this phenomenon is rarely seen before noon. 
But when it does appear the whole of that world which 
lies between the White Stone Pond at Hampstead and 
Sydenham Hill, with its weird crown, the Crystal 
Palace, may be said to raise a psean. 

This morning as Mame dealt faithfully with her 
matutinal kipper and coffee and marmalade, she felt 
inclined to raise a paean also. She had slept well in 
spite of a growing pressure of deep anxieties. Never 
had she felt more full of zip. To-day was to offer the 
chance of her life. 

The firmness of the barometer and the optimism of 
the Daily Mail so fully confirmed the prospect from 
her bedroom window, that a second consecutive day of 
fine weather was almost a certainty. She would be able 
to do the function of the afternoon under the best pos¬ 
sible conditions. 

For nearly a fortnight the wedding had been sedu¬ 
lously boomed by the newspapers. Mame was willing 
to take their word for it that the celebration of the 
n5 


n6 


THERE IS A TIDE 


nuptials of the Marquis of Belfield and Miss Van Alsten 
of New York was one of the events of the social year. 
Also she was ready to accept their prediction of an 
immense gathering at the Church of Saint Margaret, 
Westminster, and around the railings of Clanborough 
House, Mayfair. 

She decided to forego the ceremony and to concen¬ 
trate on the reception. By this means she would save 
the expense of a taxi; and perhaps of fighting her way 
through the mob. New York had taught her what that 
meant at a really smart wedding. Besides, having had 
such luck, she was sure of seeing the second part of the 
show at close range. If she got to Clanborough House 
early, she would be able to choose a good position. 
She wanted to rub shoulders with Royalty and the 
grandees. It was not so much she was a little snob, 
although she dared say that really and truly she was, as 
that she was out to hear and to see, to mark and to 
learn. 

She didn’t take much luncheon. A sort of excite¬ 
ment had been gnawing at her all the morning, and the 
nearer the time approached to set out for Mayfair, the 
worse it became. She would have despised herself for 
lack of coolness had she been equal just then to de¬ 
spising herself for anything. What was there to fuss 
over? Had it been her fool self that was going to 
marry the Marquis of Belfield she could not have felt 
more completely cuckoo. 

“Pull your doggone self together, Marne Durrance, ,, 


THERE IS A TIDE 


ii 7 

something whispered to her as she shook a little Wor¬ 
cester sauce over the mid-day hash. 

Sound advice, but not easy to follow. Even when 
she put down the bottle of Worcester sauce her hand 
continued to shake. Yes, she was cuckoo. A high¬ 
brow had declared in the office calendar for 1921 that 
he was the captain of his soul. His exact words should 
have been easy to remember, for they had been learned 
sedulously by heart; but the poor old think-box seemed 
out of business just now. And that was a pity, for 
that highbrow might have been helpful. 

Lack of appetite seemed to add to a feeling of 
“nerves.” It was absurd. Her job would not be a 
whit more difficult than a visit to the movies or the 
play. But she was in a regular twitter. Luncheon 
hardly touched, she got up from the table and went to 
her room. The business of dressing took a full hour. 
Never in her life had she taken such pains with her 
appearance. She arched her eyebrows with a pencil, 
she dabbed her face with cream and rose and she art¬ 
fully brushed her hair, a pretty burnished brown, over 
what she considered her weakest feature, a pair of 
slightly nondescript ears. 

At last she stood in her camisole to receive her best 
afternoon frock of blue marocain. Then she slipped 
about her slender neck a string of pearls even slenderer, 
whose make-believe, she hoped, would not be visible to 
the naked eye. Silk stockings, very choice and gossa¬ 
mer, and a cunning pair of shoes with high heels and 
large buckles completed the picture. 


ii 8 


THERE IS A TIDE 


As she gazed at herself in the wretched lodging-house 
mirror, she wondered why she was taking these pains. 
Not a soul in the smart mob was likely to glance at her 
twice. But she looked so pale that she could not tear 
herself away from the glass without one extra touch 
of rose. That accomplished, she had recourse to a neat 
oblong box, which since yesterday morning had graced 
the top of the chest of drawers. With a little nervous, 
thrill she produced a pair of folding eyeglasses, the 
cutest thing out, which with the help of a long tortoise¬ 
shell handle you held up to your nose. 

The only drawback to this slick contrivance was that 
for seeing purposes she simply did not need it. Her 
eyes were like a goshawk’s. The problem was to hold 
the tortoise-shell folders so as to peer over the top with¬ 
out detracting from their effect. 

Conscious that she was a veritable Paula Wyse Ling 
in action, she moved slowly forth from her room and 
down the stairs. The tightness of the new shoes re¬ 
quired caution. It was a mistake to have them fit so 
close; a pity, too, that the heels were so horribly high. 
She had to be careful also with the tortoise-shell fold¬ 
ers. If they were not kept at just the right angle going 
down those dark stairs she might miss a step, pitch 
down the lot and fetch up with a crash against the 
drawing-room door. 

Fashionable life is not all chocolate eclairs and ice¬ 
cream sodas. Marne nearly tripped over herself twice 
in the course of the perilous descent to the first-floor 
landing. She had just achieved it with a thankful 


THERE IS A TIDE 


119 

heart, when the door of the drawing-room opened, and 
lo! who should emerge like some old cat from a wicker 
basket but the queen of the tabbies, the bishop’s niece. 

No love was lost between Marne and this lady. She 
was a species of four-flusher, Marne was sure. Very 
set up with herself, yet without so much as one shilling 
to rub against another. To judge by the novels Marne 
had been reading, to get to know as it were the lie of 
this comic land, she was convinced that in the cathedral 
towns and the inland spas the nieces of bishops were 
three a penny. 

She had dignity of a sort, this dame, but when she 
came full upon Marne, who seemed at the point of fall¬ 
ing on to her tortoise-shell folders, she almost let a 
whoop. 

Howbeit, the fact that she was a bishop’s niece had 
the power to save her. Suddenly she gazed over Marne’s 
head and then muttered how glad she was that it was 
such a fine day. But Marne, in spite of tight shoes and 
a general malaise, felt the cold and stern joy of battle. 

By a discreet use of the tortoise-shell folders she was 
able to peer not so much through the middle as over 
the top. Then she lifted her good chin, which she knew 
to be one hundred per cent American, and said in that 
clear high voice which she had practised in secret from 
the hour she had first heard poor Mr. Falkland Vasa- 
sour put it over, “I’ll give your mother-love to King 
George.” 


XVI 


'T'VHERE was no need to hurry over the business of 
getting to Clanborough House. In fact, Mame 
had intended to walk, but the new shoes were so tight 
that she hailed the first taxi she saw. Instead, how¬ 
ever, of giving the sublime address, she prudently said 
Selfridge’s. She had been over the line of route 
already. Clanborough House was an easy five minutes 
on foot from that famous store; it would cost less and 
consume a certain amount of time, of which there was 
more than enough, if she walked the remainder of the 
distance. A gentle stroll, moreover, would help her to 
get on terms with her fashionable self. 

At Selfridge’s she discharged her taxi. Then grow¬ 
ing more collected every yard, in spite of the pinching 
of her shoes, she quietly sauntered through a series of 
by-streets until she turned a corner and came upon the 
sign Clanborough Street W.i. 

Here she was. At once she descried an awning in 
the middle distance. The awning was striped red and 
white. It stretched from the kerb, across the pavement, 
beyond the railings, along a kind of paved courtyard, 
and finally merged in the sombre stonework of a gloomy 
building, a sort of cross between a workhouse and a 
120 


THERE IS A TIDE 


121 


penitentiary, which since the year of grace 1709 had 
borne the name of Clanborough House. 

Beneath the awning’s entire length ran a red carpet. 
Mame was so early, it was hardly likely that the first 
guests would be back from the church within the next 
half hour. That was her own calculation, which she 
was careful to verify by the watch on her wrist and 
also by the clock on the adjacent church tower of St. 
Sepulchre. But the wedding-going public had assem¬ 
bled already; not merely in twos and threes but in fair¬ 
sized battalions. The Metropolitan police had assem¬ 
bled also; not in twos and threes either, but a round 
thirty or so good-humoured and efficient men, who, 
subject to their own little vagaries, as Mame was in a 
position to bear witness, were yet past masters in han¬ 
dling clotted masses of the British cit. 

This pleasant afternoon of early spring they were all 
out to do their job with grace and skill. They had 
drawn a cordon round Clanborough House and its en¬ 
virons. As Mame came up she observed that privi¬ 
leged beings armed with cameras were in the middle 
of the road. This caused her some slight regret that 
she had not driven up to the awning in style and had 
the door opened by a policeman. It was reasonably 
certain that she would have been the first guest to 
arrive and would therefore have been a good subject 
for the camera. With a bit of luck the new hat and 
fox might have found their way into the New York 
papers. 

It seemed a pity to have missed that chance. Life, 


122 


THERE IS A TIDE 


however, still held one or two agreeable things. One 
of these was the fact that the first policeman to chal¬ 
lenge her progress, when in order to dissociate herself 
from the crowd she stepped off the sidewalk and took 
to the roadway, was no less than that identical young 
cop whom she had met the previous evening in Hyde 
Park. 

Life is full of gay surprises. For Marne at this 
moment it was a delicious affair. To be stopped by 
that veritable baby in the broad light of day, to be 
accosted before the multitude, and to be politely re¬ 
quested not to walk in the road was about as good a 
thing as could have happened to her. The sight of the 
dour but well-cut features, of the sandy hair and the 
unsmiling face filled her at once with the joy that 
warriors feel. 

Now that the big moment had come she was no 
longer cuckoo. Like any other American citizeness she 
was reacting just naturally to the occasion. The sight 
of that policeman, the sound of his voice, removed the 
last trace of stage fright. 

“Ye can’t walk along hair, miss.” 

“Why not?” 

“Unless ye’ve a ticket for the r-r-reception.” 

Torn between an ambition to behave like a peeress 
and a powerful desire to put one over on the constable, 
the wearer of the new hat and fox opened her vanity 
bag and haughtily produced her invite. 

The young bobby, at thv sight of that magic bit of 
pasteboard and with the eyes of many superior officers 


THERE IS A TIDE 


123 

upon him, drew himself to his full height and saluted 
the new hat and fox as only a Scots policeman could 
have done. 

Coolly and with fixity of mind, Marne went through 
some warlike evolutions with her tortoise-shell folders. 
A whole series of evolutions. She seemed to detect all 
about her a sudden joyous clicking of cameras. Her 
picture was going to be in the New York papers 
after all. 

It was the proudest moment life so far had given 
her. But she was equal to it. Now that she was fairly 
in at the deep end, the springs of being seemed auto¬ 
matically to tighten up. She was going to swim. And 
she was going to swim all the better for having so 
recently distrusted the power of her breast stroke and 
the freedom of her leg action. 

The eyes of the world were upon the tortoise-shell 
folders. In Paula Wyse Ling’s opinion there was 
nothing like them. Paula was right as usual. Marne 
was conscious of the gaze of the Daily-Lyr ^-consuming 
public growing rounder and rounder. She could almost 
hear the suckers asking, Which Little Nob Is This? 


XVII 


]\ /T AME’S progress to the awning was a triumph. 

Bobby after bobby passed her along. Once she 
was fairly under it and she felt the red carpet beneath 
her high-heeled shoes, of whose perils she was still 
aware, she bent her mind to the serious business of 
being Lady Clara de Vere. 

Everything seemed to make that business easy. 
From admiring public and saluting cops in the street, 
to groom of the chambers, major domo, butlers, foot¬ 
men and what not in the mansion itself, all were careful 
to see that she didn’t step out of the picture. Never 
in her life had she felt so exhilarated as she walked on 
very slowly towards the white marble staircase. 

There was plenty of time to look at the Lawrences 
and the Romneys. She was the first guest to arrive. 
The others, who were evidently a most distinguished 
crowd, were all at the church. Except for the servants 
she seemed to have the whole place to herself. 

If she had not had a good nerve those jolly old hire¬ 
lings might have put one over on her. They were all 
male; very numerous, very starched, very stand-off; 
in fact, they were reeking with Class. She had not seen 
any hired men to compare with these. 

The house was exactly like those fake interiors you 
124 


THERE IS A TIDE 


125 


see on the movies, except that this one was real. It 
might have been a royal palace. She had never been 
anywhere like it. As she walked alone and delicately 
up that wonderful staircase she could hardly believe 
in her surroundings. Equally hard to believe in her¬ 
self. Marne Durranee must be dreaming. 

In a sense she was dreaming. Halfway up the stairs 
she paused to drive home to herself that she was the 
Lady Clara de Vere and must behave “as sich. ,, The 
truth about her was that like so many of her country¬ 
women she had a remarkable faculty of seeing herself 
in pictures. She kept a mirror at the back of her brain. 
You glanced within and were able to adjust yourself 
to your environment. In the middle of those stairs the 
little hicfPfrom Cowbarn, Iowa, took a formal oath to 
be cool, to be collected, to watch her step, and, above all, 
to see that nobody called her bluff. 

Everything so far was easy. There was not a soul 
on the stairs. But no, she was wrong. When she 
reached the head of them she came upon a rare old top 
in livery who bowed as they do in the theatre. He 
asked for her card. She handed it to him and he bayed 
out in a deep voice that went echoing all over the land¬ 
ing: “Miss Amethyst Du Ranee.” 

Marne was quite startled by the sound of her name. 
Somehow it didn’t seem to belong to her, any more 
than this ducal mansion seemed to belong to her life. 
She was dreaming, sure. The echoing “Miss Amethyst 
Du Ranee” seemed to prove it. However, she decided 
to keep moving, just as if she were broad awake. 


126 


THERE IS A TIDE 


The landing gave on to an enormous room, whose 
massive double doors were thrown right back. And 
standing in the doorway was a tall, silver-haired dame, 
dressed in black and white satin, with that particular 
kind of fagged look which Marne had first observed in 
the bishop’s niece and was no doubt indigenous to the 
upper strata of Britain. 

As soon as she saw Marne, her tired features lit up 
in a smile. 

“How do you do, Miss Du Ranee?” She spoke in 
a fatigued voice and held out a flabby hand. “The 
Duchess should be here in a few minutes. You will 
find some of the presents in there. It may interest you 
to look at them.” 

“Sure,” was Marne’s answer. It was not too ready 
or too cordial, but rather in the dry tone that Paula 
Ling called blase, which in Europe was always reck¬ 
oned good style. Lady Clara de Vere was on in this 
scene, and if the skirt was to act her part her words 
must be few and chosen with discretion. 

Lady C. de V. gave her tortoise-shell folders a shake 
and then passed on into the room. It was immense, 
and this was a happy dispensation, since it was encum¬ 
bered with tables on which hundreds of presents were 
elaborately laid out. 

Such things, however, had no particular interest for 
Marne. They could be seen any old day. It was the 
house itself and the people in it that were best worth 
looking at. Here was such a chance of observing the 
great world from the inside as might never happen 


THERE IS A TIDE 


127; 

again. She must learn as much as she possibly could 
in the short time at her disposal. 

A cursory glance at the presents was all she gave. 
Then she wandered away through a suite of smaller 
rooms, all of which were unoccupied. But they were 
very interesting with their richly patterned carpets won¬ 
derful to the tread; glorious tapestries upon the walls, 
candelabra which reminded her of certain photographs 
she had seen of Versailles; mirrors, pictures, bric-a- 
brac in rare profusion. It was freely said in England 
that the aristocracy had been killed by the war, but 
from what she saw of Clanborough House there was 
life in the old dog yet. 

However, these things did not greatly matter. The 
folks were what she was really wishful to see. There¬ 
fore she soon returned to the big room. After a care¬ 
ful survey she fixed herself in a strategic corner which 
partly concealed her yet also commanded a fair view 
of the open doors and the broad landing and staircase 
beyond. 

In a very few minutes the first of the folks came 
into view. Even without the guidance of their cos¬ 
tumes Marne would have had no difficulty in identify¬ 
ing them from their pictures in the papers as the bride 
and bridegroom. They made a young and handsome 
and jolly-looking pair. Any girl might have been en¬ 
vious ; but Marne was far too busy to indulge that mean 
passion. 

For the folks began to pour in now with a venge¬ 
ance. Among the first arrivals was a bunch of 


128 


THERE IS A TIDE 


Royalties. It was easy to tell these were the Real 
Cream, by the care with which they were herded into 
a distant corner of the room. Here they stood apart, 
surrounded by dames-in-waiting and sconce-bearers. 
From time to time some old grandee was brought up 
to speak to them. Almost the first of these was the old 
duchess with the Wellington nose whom Marne’s un¬ 
known friend had claimed for a godmother. She came 
up leaning on a black cane and was soon in deep con¬ 
versation with a particularly upstanding dame whom 
Marne guessed by the look of her to be the Queen of 
England. 

Democrat though Marne was proud to consider her¬ 
self, she took an undemocratic interest in all that went 
on. The look of the Royalties and the detached way 
in which they bore themselves interested her enor¬ 
mously. But she was not able to give them undivided 
attention. From her point of view other important 
things were beginning to happen. 

By now the folks were simply swarming up the 
stairs. There was a loud hum of voices; a mighty lot 
of hand-shaking; considerable laughter; and as a mob 
of guests began to percolate into the room and to circu¬ 
late around the tables Marne was confronted with the 
difficult task of picking out those who were most worth 
while. Plutes were so thick on the ground that it called 
for more than her knowledge to say who were not 
worth while. 

Suddenly her eye was caught by a braided morning 
coat which somehow had a remarkably familiar look. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


129 


Where had she seen it? Which Prince was in that 
morning’s Daily Lyre? Why, to be sure, it was the 
young fellow Bill! Which Prince was Bill ? A fasci¬ 
nating inquiry. Before it could be answered, so swiftly 
swirled this human vortex, the drama became im¬ 
mensely more complicated. For, coming in through the 
door, looking just as gay, just as cool, just as chic 
as ever, was her chance acquaintance of the Carlton 
who had turned out to be a fairy godmother. 

Marne’s excitement mounted so oddly at the sight of 
this girl, whom she hardly expected to see again, that 
she had to restrain a shout of welcome. This dump, 
she reminded herself, was not the cafeteria on Second 
Street, Cowbarn, Iowa, but Clanborough House, May- 
fair,^ London, England. In the words of the song the 
Colonel’s Lady and Judy O’Grady might be sisters 
under their skins, but if Miss Du Ranee—the fool puss! 
—didn’t watch out, she would be tearing a large hole 
in the manners of Lady Clara de Vere. 

Was the girl going to look towards her corner ? Or 
was she not? It was no cert. The folks were still 
pouring in ^royalties, senators, professional beauts. It 
was no snap. The girl, who was showing some fine 
teeth and chattering like a good one, seemed to have a 
word for them all. 

These were anxious moments. It would be just too 
bad if Marne didn’t catch the eye of the unknown 
friend. The entire future might turn upon it. She 
must thank her for the invitation. And this time she 


130 


THERE IS A TIDE 


must see that the fairy godmother did not get away 
without revealing who she was. 

It began to seem, however, as if Marne would have 
to leave her nice, comfortable corner and go and chase 
her. Each moment the place was getting fuller; each 
moment more of the folks intervened between Marne 
and the quarry. The human tide surging around was 
slowly but surely carrying her the other way. 

Marne did not want, all the same, to quit a post which 
so finely commanded the main doorway. But she must 
keep the unknown in the middle of her eye or she would 
lose her. However, Marne’s luck was in. The girl was 
hustled to the right of the big table, instead of to the 
left, as Marne had feared that she would be. 

This made all the difference. She came back on her 
tracks. All kinds of whales were still hanging around 
her. But Marne could not help that. It was now or it 
was never. Still, the Lady Clara de Vere did not let 
a whoop or a coo-ee or anything in the nature of a 
view holloa. Preserving a ladylike calm, that would 
have had no success at Cowbarn, she waved her white 
gloved hands and then clapped them together, one, two, 
three! 

The girl was so engaged with her friends that the 
first time failed to do the trick. Repeating the per¬ 
formance, she clapped still louder, one, two, three! 
Then the fairy godmother suddenly looked Marne full 
in the eye. For one brief instant a kind of mild sur¬ 
prise shone over her and then she said quite cheerily: 
“It is sporting of you to show up here.” 


THERE IS A TIDE 


I 3 i 

Miss Amethyst Du Ranee took a strong pull of her 
young self. This scene belonged entire to Lady C. de 
Vere, a fact she must not forget. “Not at all,” was 
Marne’s answer. She prided herself that it was a good 
answer. Already she had learned that in London, 
England, the Cream when in doubt either said “Quite” 
or “Not at all.” 

“Can you tell me which is King George?” Marne 
congratulated herself that her fool mind was function¬ 
ing. And if the apt question was put in a voice that 
at Cowbarn wo^jd have ranked as a mere whisper, even 
amid the spate of conversation it was fully audible. 

“Not here yet,” was the answer, casual but gay. 
“Shouldn’t wonder if he’s splitting a small soda with 
Uncle John.” 

“Oh!” said Marne. So cool, so unconcerned, so 
chaffing was the jane about it all, that from the tone 
of her Marne was by no means sure that she was not 
a royalty herself. 

“I just want to thank you right from my heart, for 
sending me this invite.” 

“Jolly good of you to come.” Nothing could have 
been lighter than the girl’s tone, but in Marne’s opinion 
nothing could have been more pleasant. 

Her next remark sent her up still higher in Marne’s 
esteem. “Would you like some tea?” The words as 
well as the tone were music. 

“I’ll say yes.” Such fervour was in Marne’s reply 
that it seemed as if Lady Clara de Vere had missed her 


cue. 


132 


THERE IS A TIDE 


“Come on, then. Let us go downstairs to the buffet 
before the mob breaks loose. ,, 

It was not easy to find a way through the crowd now 
blocking the large room. But under the accomplished 
guidance of the girl they were able to emerge into one 
of the smaller rooms. Thence they escaped through a 
private door concealed behind an imposing arras and 
so down an unsuspected staircase, which proved to be 
a short cut to a very pleasant region wherein was con¬ 
tained “the eats.” 

Marne deduced from the competence of her guide 
that she had the run of the place. Evidently she knew 
her way. “Mustn’t go in there,” she indicated a room 
to the right, whose smartly decorated tables looked par¬ 
ticularly enticing. “That’s reserved for the wallahs. 
Common you and me had better pile in here.” 

The room on the left, although less exclusive, had 
some good points. There were tea and cakes in pro¬ 
fusion; also a number of snug little tables at which to 
enjoy them. None was yet occupied and they were 
able to take their pick. The one they chose was just 
behind the entrance door, out of the way of everybody. 

“Lucky to get in before the squash,” said the guide 
as they sat down. “Half London’ll be here soon.” 

Hardly had a superb footman, in powder and knee- 
breeches, provided a tray containing not merely tea and 
cakes but also caviar sandwiches, when the prophecy 
was borne out. The small tables began rapidly to fill. 

A couple of pigtails, smartly ribboned, whose owners 
were immensely voluble, soon commandeered the next 


THERE IS A TIDE 


133 

table to Marne’s. Armed with pencils and cards they 
seemed to be in the middle of a mysterious game. 

“Bags I the noo Murcan am-bass-a-door,” the first 
flapper, a tall and leggy sixteen who wore spectacles, 
could be heard to say in a high-pitched voice. “Two 
for his goatee. One for his horn lamps.” 

“Bags I the King Maj,” excitedly proclaimed the 
second flapper, who was perhaps two years younger 
than the first. 

“King Maj is barred,” said the first wielder of the 
pencil in a severe tone. “You know that. Besides, 
you haven’t seen him.” 

“When he comes I bags him,” the second sports¬ 
woman mainta^ed stoutly. “And I shall count ten.” 

“It’s not according to the rules.” 

“Oh, yes, as they play at Oxford college. They 
always count ten for the King Maj.’* 

Great argument ensued. It was decidedly technical; 
also inclined to be heated. Marne’s companion, who 
seemed to follow it with amusement mingled with a 
little good-natured scorn, gently observed: “These 
young modern flappers are really dreadful.” And then 
she proceeded to attract their attention. 

It was not a judicious action. 

“Hulloa, Vi!” cried the flappers. They rose as one, 
and like a pair of excited young colts came gambolling 
about Marne’s table. 

For all their rather riotous volubility they had a natu¬ 
ral attractiveness. Also there was a strong facial like- 


I 34 


THERE IS A TIDE 


ness which led Mame to think these high-spirited crea¬ 
tures must be sisters of her friend. 

The assumption was correct. 

“This is sister Marjorie,” said the girl, shooting a 
good-humoured finger at Miss Spectacles. “And this 
is sister Doris. The light and the joy of our home.” 

Both flappers ceased their prattle for a moment to 
look shrewdly at Mame and to bow quite nicely. Then, 
as their elders did not seem inclined to pay them much 
attention, they suddenly returned to their argument. 

“Vi knows the rules of the Beaver game. Vi knows 
everything.” 

“For the love of Pete go back and eat your buns,” 
said the elder sister. “I never heard so much noise 
since Poppa fell into the canal.” 

At this sally each young flapper laughed a loud and 
merry ha-ha. Then, giving their manes a shake, they 
humorously retired to the next table, where with un¬ 
abated violence they still continued to discuss the rules 
of the Beaver game, which had proved so demoralising 
to British flapperdom. 

“I expect you have young sisters of your own.” This 
to Mame by way of apology. 

Mame had no sisters of her own. But she responded 
to the friendliness. The more she saw of this new 
acquaintance the more she liked her. And the family 
episode in which she had just been involved showed her 
in such a happy light that Marne’s heart warmed. 

She decided to take advantage of the moment by 
finding out who the unknown was. Their first meeting 


THERE IS A TIDE 


135 

was still in her mind. At the Carlton she had seemed 
to claim so much for herself that Marne’s suspicions 
had been aroused. But she had so amply kept the 
promise she had made; and now this afternoon at this 
big show she seemed as much top-side as ever, that, 
without further delay, it became imperative for the 
mystery to be cleared up. 

Marne took inspiration from another caviar sand¬ 
wich. And then she said with the amusing directness 
that was so characteristic: 

“I just love those sisters of yours. But who are you, 
anyway?” 

The girl produced the cigarette case Marne had 
already had occasion to admire and neatly detached a 
visiting card. Handing it across the table she denoted 
the name in the centre. “The Marchioness of Kidder¬ 
minster.” One finger brushed it lightly. “That’s my 
mother.” 

“Gee!” breathed Marne softly. She was a hard-shell 
democrat, but she was rather impressed by what looked 
like a famous title. 

Below the name of Mommer, in the right-hand cor¬ 
ner of the card, was a string of lesser names, yet in 
their way quite as intriguing: Lady Mary Treherne, 
Lady Alice Treherne, Lady Violet Treherne. 

The white-gloved finger came slowly to rest on the 
last of the three. “That’s me.” 

Marne took the card in her hand. She gazed at it 
with a slightly incredulous eye. 

“Say, listen, honey!” In the thrill of the moment 


THERE IS A TIDE 


136 

she quite forgot the role she was so determined to play: 
“Say, listen, honey, are you one of this bunch of hicks ?” 

Lady Violet’s laugh paid honest tribute to this price¬ 
less Miss Du Ranee. She was unique. But the new 
friend was not set up with herself or her own be¬ 
longings. 

“A long and stupid family.” Impossible not to like 
the frankness. “But our mother’s rather a duck.” 

“I’ll say so.” 

“You’ll like her when you meet her.” 

Marne’s eyes glowed hopefully. 

“But I fear it won’t be to-day. She’s having to sit 
up and purr, poor thing, among all the brass hats. 
Nothing below the rank of an ambassador’ll be able to 
get near her for the next two hours.” 

“I’ll just love some time to meet the Marchioness.” 
Marne spoke slowly and carefully, after the manner of 
Mr. Falkland Vavasour. With his help she was able 
this time to bring the Lady C. de V. into action. “Per¬ 
haps you won’t mind giving me your private address 
and your telephone number.” 

“I live in a small hutch of my own,” said Lady 
Violet. “No. 16b Half Moon Street, bath hot and cold, 
company’s own water Telephone double o, nine, six, 
Mayfair.” 

Marne carefully wrote the most salient of these de¬ 
tails on the back of the visiting card. 

“It you are staying on in London I hope you’ll look 
me up.” 

Lady C. de V. would be de-light-ed. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


137 

“Pm always in Tuesdays four to six. Very glad 
to see you if you’ll come round.” 

“You bet I will.” 

But the face of Mame suddenly fell. For she re¬ 
membered how terribly narrow was the financial margin 
upon which she was at that moment poised. It sprang 
to the tip of her tongue to ask this new and influential 
friend, who no doubt was in everything and had all 
sorts of strings to pull, if she could help her in the 
matter of placing her stuff. But pride restrained her. 
Prudence also. This was hardly a moment in which 
she could venture to give herself away. 


XVIII 


RIUMPH was the emotion uppermost in Miss 



Amethyst Du Ranee when, next morning, soon 
after eight, she slipped into her kimono and, large 
sponge in hand, made her way down to the bathroom. 
Undoubtedly she had come off well. The present feel¬ 
ing of inward power was some reward for the expendi¬ 
ture of spirit the previous day had cost. 

There was, however, a less pleasing side to the mat¬ 
ter. And in the course of her bath it began most in¬ 
conveniently to present itself. No use burking the fact: 
she had quite outrun the constable. Doing a swift sum 
in her head, she was almost horrified to find how deeply 
she had dipped into her purse. 

Ambition was the Lorelei’s song. It piped the rea¬ 
son out of you. One extravagance led to another. Like 
swimming on a summer morning in a treacherous sea, 
the play of sunlight on the waves lured you on. And 
when at last you turned for home you found it was 
too late. 

When Marne emerged from the bathroom her feel¬ 
ing of elation had gone. She felt strangely like that 
symbolical swimmer. Not now would she be able to 
get back to the shore. She had dipped so deeply these 
last days that even if she booked steerage she would 


138 


THERE IS A TIDE 


139 

land in New York with an empty purse. What a reck¬ 
less little fool! Yet, it was life after all. From that 
point of view it was worth it. Certain lines of the 
office calendar sprang to her memory. 

One crowded hour of glorious life 
Is worth an age without a name. 

That baby was right. The pity was that the glorious 
hour lasted so short a time. And when it came to 
paying the bill you had to take a pretty tight hold on 
yourself. Three weeks more at her present rate of 
living and she would be cleaned right out. The thought 
made her shiver. If she didn’t find a way in the mean¬ 
time of gathering honey she would be up against big 
trouble. Things looked bad. Still she could last three 
weeks; and though in seven months she had earned 
hardly a dime, if she kept a stiff lip there was still hope. 

She made a fair breakfast, in spite of many and 
growing fears; and then went to her favourite nook in 
the sitting room, whose embrasure caught any early sun 
that was around. Writing pad on knee, she proceeded 
to jot down in what she had christened her “best 
Mamese” an account of the doings at Clanborough 
House. 

It was not a conventional account. She told in the 
rather hybrid style which best suited her whimsical pen 
of the folks who were there, of how they bore them¬ 
selves, of what they wore and so on. Even while her 
quaint words flowed over the paper she understood the 
folly of it all. Who would fall for her sort of guff? 


140 


THERE IS A TIDE 


Now that Elmer P. had failed her the sheet anchor was 
gone. There was perhaps one chance in a thousand 
that Paula Ling or Lady Violet might be able to plant 
it for her, but even to a nature as full of hope as a 
young choir boy’s, the odds seemed long. 

All morning she wrote steadily, covering more pages 
than were ever likely to be read. She was pleased with 
her facility of expression, although it had a tendency 
to get gay. But persons no brighter than herself were 
always pulling worse junk than that on some dub of 
an editor. 

She would have fair copies made. One she would 
mail to Paula Ling and tell her for the love of Mike 
to place it, as unless she found a bonanza she would not 
be able to continue going around in London society. 
A second copy should accompany her on Tuesday to 
16b Half Moon Street; and she would beg her new 
friend to do what she could with it. 

Somehow the second part of the programme struck 
Marne as a prospect. Lady Violet, in her way, was a 
bit of a sorceress. She had birds of all sorts feeding 
from the hand. If a lone child could fix it in that good 
and clever head how much depended on her friendship, 
all was not yet lost. 

By luncheon time one fact shone clear. No matter 
what happened in the near future to Miss Amethyst 
Du Ranee, her return to New York must be postponed 
indefinitely. Tinhorns like herself—to be rather pain¬ 
fully frank—had quite as good a chance in London as 
on Broadway or in the Bronx; and if the worst should 


THERE IS A TIDE 


141 

happen, the final process of getting kicked around might 
seem less painful if applied by the boot of the alien. 
London was no cakewalk, New York wasn’t either; but 
in the light of recent experience she fancied that of the 
two cities London was the less likely to skin you. Even 
if these comic islanders knew a dud when they saw 
one, anything foreign seemed to inspire them with a 
sense of chivalry. 

New York, on the other hand, did not reach out after 
a sense of chivalry towards the foreigner. Or towards 
small-town persons either. In New York you just had 
to pay your way or git. 

Rather than surrender to the down-and-out feeling 
ever gaining upon her, she went in the afternoon to 
the pictures, to see her favourite “Mary and Doug.” 
Before setting out from Cowbarn into the great world 
she had hesitated over a profession. Vaudeville, news¬ 
papers, the movies: her choice had lain between the 
three. It seemed that she had chosen wrong. Instead 
of investing her legacy in cosmopolitan experience, 
which seemingly was of no particular use when it was 
obtained, she might have given her days and nights to 
dancing and singing, for which she believed herself to 
have something of a talent, although of course, like 
every talent, it needed cultivation; or still better, she 
might have gone to Hollywood, the Mecca of her kind, 
and made a first-hand study of the film. 

No use, however, to consider the might have been. 
Her choice was made and it had turned out wrong. 
Every dollar of Aunt Lou’s legacy was nearly blown 


142 


THERE IS A TIDE 


in. And there was precious little to show for it. But 
she would have to stick it now. 

After the pictures, she went and did some window¬ 
gazing; and then she had a cup of tea at a Lyons cafe. 
She did not feel equal this evening to Fotheringay 
House. Insecurity was getting on her nerves; and 
those old stiffs were always trying to call her bluff in 
unsuspected ways. For instance, she had heard the 
high-pitched voice of the bishop’s niece, blaa-ing over 
the luncheon table that the name of Miss Du Ranee 
did not appear to be in the Morning Post list of those 
present at Clanborough House. 

It was rather late when Marne returned to Montacute 
Square. Bleak was the sky and she herself was feeling 
like thirty cents. The wind had veered suddenly to 
the northeast, its favourite quarter in England now that 
April was there; and it had a power of making you 
wish that you had chosen some other spot in which to 
enjoy the glad spring weather. 

Marne was hating life as she turned into the Square 
and was admitted to Fotheringay House by the little 
maid Janet. 

“No letters for me, I guess?” The perfunctoriness 
had a touch of despair. 

“Yes, miss. One on the ’all stand.” 

Marne passed swiftly on to the table in the hall. 
Sure enough, a letter. Typewritten address. Post¬ 
mark New York. From Paula Ling no doubt. She 
had not had a line from Paula since landing in Eng¬ 
land. Nice of a go-getter like Paula, with whom time 


THERE IS A TIDE 


143 


was money, to mail a few lines. Not ten minutes ago, 
Marne had feared, so black was her mood, that Paula 
Ling would soon be sharing the discard with Elmer P. 

Unopened she crammed the letter into her coat pocket. 
It would keep. There was not much time to prepare 
for dinner; the first gong had already sounded. Up¬ 
stairs, however, in her bedroom, with the electric light 
turned on, she could deny herself no longer. There 
was time for one glance at what Paula had to say. Not 
that it could be anything vital. Her own last and most 
important letter to her friend had been mailed only 
four days ago; therefore they must have crossed in the 
post. 

But even the most imaginative players, as it seems, 
never quite know the next turn in the game of life. 
No sooner had Marne tom open the letter than out fell 
a cheque for one hundred and fifty dollars. 


XIX 


M AME’S life had known its “moments.” This, 
however, was just the biggest it had known. 
Here was corn in Egypt. She examined the cheque, 
pressed it to her lips, and then reexamined it in order to 
make sure that it was real. 

There was a covering letter inside the envelope, nicely 
typed, from the office of the New York Monitor. So 
Paula had wangled herself a billet on the New York 
Monitor! One for her. It was a live paper. All sorts 
of whales wrote for the Monitor. Yes, Paula Wyse 
Ling was getting on. 

The letter was dated Tuesday, 26th March. It 
began: 

“Dear Marne, You must be wondering what has got 
me, or shall I say? what has got your script.” 

Marne was perplexed. 

“The truth is, things have been happening. Pve 
lately taken up the post of assistant editor on this old- 
established and important journal. Still I ought to 
have acknowledged before now the stuff you sent me. 
Part of my excuse is there has been delay in sending 
it on from Cowbarn.” 

Cowbarn! 

“I left the Independent six weeks ago to take up my 
job here.” 


144 


THERE IS A TIDE 


145 

Mame could bear the strain no longer. She gave a 
hasty glance at the foot of the page. Paula Ling was 
not the writer of the letter. The signature was almost 
undecipherable, but one time and another Mame had 
Had much practice in reading it. “Cordially, Elmer 
P. Dobree.” 

Yes, Elmer P! No other! Marne’s chest began to 
tighten rather oddly. Fancy having doubted the loyalty 
of the dear boob! She ought to have known that he 
was one of the regular fellows. A man in a million, 
Elmer P. 

In the nicest, modestest, most friendly way, his let¬ 
ter went on to say how much he liked “A Little Hick 
in London, England,” the whimsical name she had 
given her weekly budget of news. Other folks liked it 
too. The copy already to hand was going to be printed 
in the Monitor . He hoped she wouldn’t mind if it was 
pulled about a bit. The Monitor had so many calls on 
its space. But he was sure she would like to know that 
the chief editor’s fancy had been really tickled by the 
first-hand impressions and her way of putting them 
across. He would like her to do the big houses and 
the people she saw there; Buckingham Palace, if pos¬ 
sible, the Houses of Parliament, Hurlingham, the 
Opera and so on, and if the series turned out as good 
as Elmer personally was sure it would, he felt he could 
promise on the Monitor's behalf that its interest in her 
would continue. 

Mame had no thought of vaudeville now. But she 
executed a pas seul in the confined space provided by 


146 


THERE IS A TIDE 


an apology for a bedroom carpet. The letter was real, 
hard though it was to believe it. If, however, it had 
not been for that cheque for one hundred and fifty 
priceless dollars, she would have been forced to con¬ 
clude that even Elmer P. was trying to put one over 
on her. 


XX 


7 I 'HE letter from New York filled Mame with new 
energy, fresh hope. Next day she went about the 
town with a changed outlook. She might not have been 
the same girl. A wide vista had astonishingly opened; 
not that she had ever doubted really that she was going 
to make good. 

It seldom rains but it pours. 

This attitude of simple faith received further justi¬ 
fication in the course of the day. As she passed the 
Tube bookstall in Leicester Square a week-old copy of 
High Life chanced to catch her eye. And there, on the 
very front page of that rather mean-looking periodical, 
was an article entitled “A Little Hick in London, 
England.” 

She promptly recognised it as one of the two she had 
submitted to that journal. The discovery gave her a 
bit of a shock. Not so much as a word of acknowledg¬ 
ment had been received from Mr. Digby Judson, let 
alone any suggestion of payment, yet here was the 
stuff in the cold glamour of print. 

Mame was wroth. She had also a feeling of modest 
elation; but at the moment anger was paramount. 

At all times a believer in action, she promptly made 
her way down the street and got a bus that would take 
i47 


148 THERE IS A TIDE 

her to Tun Court. This business should be settled 
without delay. 

When she had climbed the dark stairs, however, 
which led to the editorial offices of High Life, some¬ 
thing of a shock awaited her. Instead of her knock 
on the door marked Inquiries being answered by the 
fair student of Duchess Novelettes, a voice loud and 
gruff bade her “Come in!” 

The room’s sole occupant was a large, heavy man 
who exuded a powerful odour of beer and tobacco. 
Marne had no difficulty in sizing him up at once as a 
common roughneck. 

“Can I see Mr. Digby Judson?” Marne had the 
asperity which springs from a sense of grievance. 

“Mr. Who ?” The roughneck blinked torpidly. 

“The editor of this journal.” Marne’s asperity grew. 

“Editor ?” The roughneck looked like falling asleep. 
“Sorry to disappoint yer, missy, but I don’t think yer 
can.” 

“Why not?” 

“Mr. Bloomin’ Editor’s ’opped it.” 

“I don’t get you.” 

“Skedaddled. Taken the petty cash. Overdrawn 
at the bank. Done a moonlight flit last night.” 

“Oh!” said Marne sternly as light broke upon her. 
“You mean he’s quit.” 

The torpid gentleman having reinforced his lucidity 
by a pull at his jug of beer, remarked pensively: 
“Yuss. The pawty in question ’as quit.” 

Marne’s vision of being paid on the spot in honest 


THERE IS A TIDE 


149 


cash for value honestly given began to recede. “Well, 
I want my money.” But the futility of such a demand 
was clear. 

“Other pawties wants it too,” said the roughneck 
mildly. “That’s why I’m setting here.” 

The light continued to broaden. “Then you must 
be a-a-what-do-you-call-em ?” Marne was confronted 
suddenly by a limit to her knowledge of the British 
idiom. 

“A bailiff.” The roughneck buried his face in the 

jug. 

“Can you tell me how to get the bucks he owes me?” 
Marne had given up all hope. But there was no harm 
in asking the question. 

The baliff shook his large and ugly yet not ill- 
humoured head. “A bad egg, I fancy. The paper’s 
broke. Between you and me, missy”—the beery voice 
grew confidential—“I’ve been put in by the debenture 
holders. As you might say I represent a little matter 
of four thousand quid.” 

“Sakes! Then I guess I’ll not be able to connect.” 

“Clever if you do, missy, take it from me.” 

Marne slowly adjusted her thinking cap. She re¬ 
garded herself as the possessor of a natural business 
head. And in the matter of her rights she did not be¬ 
lieve in quitting too early. 

She addressed the baliff sternly. “Who you acting 
for?” 

“The debenture holders.” 

“I don’t get you. Who are they anyways ?” 


THERE IS A TIDE 


150 

The man produced a wad of greasy-looking papers 
from the interior of his coat. He moistened his thumb, 
selected a dirty card and handed it to Marne. “Them’s 
the solicitors.” 

“Messrs. Ackerman, Barton and Profitt,” the card 
informed Marne. 

“That’s the firm. Their office is just acrost the road 
in Chawncery Lane.” 

Marne thanked the roughneck for his information 
and then obtained permission to keep the card. The 
address might come in useful. All the same there was 
nothing at the moment to lead one to suppose that it 
would. 

From what the bailiff said, she would be wise to 
write off the money due her from High Life as a bad 
debt. 


XXI 


r 1 MJESDAY afternoon saw Miss Amethyst Du 
A Ranee armed cap-a-pie for a second descent upon 
London society. 

Since the opportune arrival of Elmer P.’s letter the 
invitation to Half Moon Street had been much in her 
thoughts. It opened up new possibilities. And the 
friend she had so providentially found was likely to 
prove of great value in the life she aspired to lead. 

Having received her baptism of fire at Clanborough 
House, Marne had none of the qualms which, on that 
occasion, had assailed her. Within her now was a 
happy feeling of success. Moreover, a black cloud had 
been lifted from her mind. Elmer P.’s letter had 
changed everything. 

By nature adventurous, she was stimulated by the 
prospect of big things. To begin with, she bestowed 
great pains upon her appearance. She had lately dis¬ 
covered that she paid for dressing; and it gave her real 
pleasure to linger over the last touches to her small but 
attractive self. 

She had, too, an instinct for doing things well. The 
afternoon was fine, there was spring in the air, but she 
could afford a taxi to Half Moon Street. Therefore 
151 


152 


THERE IS A TIDE 


she taxi’d. It gave her a sense of being in the picture 
to drive up in state to Lady Violet’s flat. 

It was about a quarter to four when she found her¬ 
self going up in the lift—a handier word than elevator 
—to 16b on the second floor. She pressed a neat but¬ 
ton and a dinky maid, who was much too smart for a 
hired girl, in snowy cap and apron and with a prim 
English look, ushered the visitor across a tiny entrance 
hall into a singularly cosy and artistically furnished 
drawing room. To Marne it was quite the last word 
in feminine elegance. 

It was a little early for callers and she had the good 
luck to find Lady Violet alone. As soon as the visitor 
was announced the hostess laid aside the novel she was 
reading, got up cheerily and welcomed her with that 
forthcomingness which from the first had taken Marne. 

There was great charm in this girl and Marne reacted 
to it. Here were a big outlook and first-hand knowl¬ 
edge of the great world. To Lady Violet life was a 
game; human nature an amusing spectacle, a kind of 
comedy farce; men and women, no matter how highly 
placed, were merely players. But she had not a spark 
of ill nature; at least Marne as yet had not detected one. 
Nor, as far as Marne could tell, was she grinding her 
own axe. The top-notchers Marne had been privileged 
to look on in New York from a respectful distance 
were not folks of this kidney. They were mighty care¬ 
ful to keep you at arm’s length, unless you could make 
them feel that you had something substantial to give 


THERE IS A TIDE 153 

them in return for any interest they condescended to 
take in a person as raw as yourself. 

This afternoon, however, Mame was not feeling 
quite so raw as she had done. Clanborough House 
combined with the letter from New York had some¬ 
how given her a more substantial basis. It is wonder¬ 
ful what a feeling of success can do. Besides, Lady 
Violet, as usual, was just as easy as pie. 

She told the visitor how pleased she was to see her 
and fixed her snugly in a chair. 

“When are you thinking of going home? ,, 

“I expect I’ll stay on through the summer now.” 
Mame had a slight air of importance. “I like the life 
here and I’ve just had a commission to report it for 
the New York Monitor” 

“That’ll be interesting.” 

Mame hoped it would be. If she was careful how 
she played her cards it might be very interesting indeed, 
but the problem of the moment was the exact order in 
which to do so. 

She was a creature of quick intuitions. And she 
promptly decided that the perfect frankness which up 
till now had served her so well was decidedly the card 
to bank on. 

To go around, to see things from the inside, to get 
into the swim was Marne’s ambition and she naively 
confessed it to Lady Violet. This new friend did not 
discourage it. She did, indeed, seem a little amused, 
but not in the way of patronage or ill nature. Perhaps 
it was because this quaint thing from a land where 


154 


THERE IS A TIDE 


Lady Violet herself had enjoyed jolly times was so 
liberally endowed with the quality that most appealed 
to her in man or woman, horse or hound. It was the 
quality best summed up by the good word “pluck,” 
which from their first chance meeting had inspired her 
with an honest desire to help this little American. 

Something about Miss Amethyst De Ranee had cer¬ 
tainly touched Lady Violet. This girl was as different 
from the run of Americans with whom she occasionally 
rubbed shoulders on their native continent as chalk 
is different from cheese. And among her compatriots 
whom Lady Violet knew in London, not one in the 
least resembled her. 

Obviously her general education was limited, but 
this girl was as live as a fire. She was very original; 
and her decidedly pretty head was full of ideas. Even 
if in the main they were directed to her own advance¬ 
ment, why blame her? But it was her way of saying 
things that appealed most strongly to this amateur of 
the human comedy. Lady Violet was a connoisseur, 
who in her spare time collected odd types of her fel¬ 
low creatures, as other people collect postage stamps, 
foreign coins, pewter or old Sheffield. Moreover, hav¬ 
ing a keen, if rather freakish sense of fun, it pleased 
her sometimes to play one “type” off against another. 

All the same, there was no young woman in London 
society more genuinely popular. If she could be, and 
frequently was, mischievous in a subtle way, she had a 
knack of helping lame dogs over stiles. Providing she 
liked a person, and she sometimes liked them for the 


THERE IS A TIDE 


155 

oddest reasons, such as the shape of their ears, or 
because their toes turned in, she would take quite a lot 
of trouble over them. 

This afternoon the funny little American she had 
met at the Carlton ten days ago, and who now graced 
her “collection” as if she had been a scarce butterfly 
with rare and attractive markings, was sending up a 
rather pathetic social S. O. S. Miss Du Ranee, who 
was really pretty if she wouldn’t “make up” and wear 
the wrong sort of clothes, had already let her in on 
the ground floor in the matter of confidences. The girl 
had, it seemed, ambitions, which she had precious little 
chance of being able to gratify. 

Lady Violet, however, did not tell her so. She was 
much too good-hearted for that. From the first she 
had been attracted by the child. Something looked out 
of those good grey eyes. Already this new friend’s 
worldly wise brain was at work. 

Marne was encouraged to prattle artlessly on. There 
was no display of vulgar curiosity; but in the most 
natural way Lady Violet probed the secrets of her 
past. The life on the farm, four miles from Cowbarn, 
Iowa; the burning of the midnight candle to fit herself 
for the larger life; the good Miss Jenkins; the secret 
study of stenography; the escape to the Independent 
office; the arrival of Aunt Lou’s legacy; the flight to 
New York; the police raid; the trip to Europe—warmed 
by sympathy, Marne told the story of her life. And as 
told in the vivid native idiom, which, to the dweller in 


THERE IS A TIDE 


156 

another world, had all the charm of novelty, the story 
almost became an epic. 

Yes, she was worth helping, this rather pathetic 
child. Lady Violet fixed on her again that masked 
look which had a strange power of seeing through the 
most complex people. But this little go-getter—her 
own priceless word—was not complex at all. She was 
perfectly easy to read. And yet so interesting. In 
fact she was something new. 

Miss Du Ranee had just told the story of her life, 
when a tall, slightly faded-looking woman of forty 
came into the room. 

The first thing Marne noted about this lady was the 
way in which her hair was done. She must have a 
peach of a maid. It was turning a most becoming shade 
of grey; it was abundant and it had an air of great 
elegance. That indeed was the quality which dominated 
the lady herself; an air of great elegance. She was 
subdued in dress and in manner; she moved like some 
extremely dignified and well-nurtured cat; yet there 
was nothing about her of that passive hostility which 
caused Marne so actively to dislike the Tabbies of Foth- 
eringay House. 

Lady Violet addressed this rather formal yet most 
agreeable dame as Cousin Edith. “Let me introduce 
Miss Du Ranee of Chicago,” she said to Cousin Edith 
with a pensive smile. 

Marne returned vigorously Cousin Edith’s bow and 
then offered an equally vigorous hand. “Very pleased 
to meet you, ma’am,” said Marne cordially. Her demo- 


THERE IS A TIDE 


157 


cratic spirit was a little doubtful of the “ma’am” but 
she was using company manners, so it seemed all right. 

“Of Chicago/’ however, troubled her. “Cowbarn, 
Iowa.” She hastened with a frank smile to correct 
Lady Violet. 

“Near Chicago,” said the hostess sotto voce to 
Cousin Edith. For some reason, which was not at all 
clear, she seemed determined to locate Marne in a region 
wherein Marne had no desire to be located. Iowa was 
good enough for her, but evidently in London society 
Illinois was considered more Chick. 

She took quite a liking to Cousin Edith. That lady 
had a nice flow of talk that was very amiable and 
kindly. Unlike Lady Violet’s it was not syncopated 
nor was it full of slang; it had no witty twists and turns, 
but it was well worth listening to. Cousin Edith 
appeared to have seen and known quite a lot, but she 
lacked Lady Violet’s force and humour and her mod¬ 
ern touch. All the same she was light in hand and had 
the happy knack of meeting people a little more than 
half way, which could not be said for most Britishers. 

Marne was getting on famously with Cousin Edith 
when a Mrs. Creber Newsum was announced. Mrs. 
Creber Newsum was tall, blonde, very blue-eyed, very 
fragile. Distinction seemed to stand off from her man¬ 
ner in festoons. Like her fair hair and her fine chin 
her fluting voice seemed to be raised a shade too high. 

The moment Mrs. Creber Newsum entered the room, 
and even before being introduced to her, which she 
almost immediately was, Marne instinctively knew this 


THERE IS A TIDE 


158 

was a kind of dame of whom she would do well to be 
careful. She had a subtle feeling before a word had 
passed between them that the newcomer was one of her 
own countrywomen. And in that case she shrewdly 
suspected that as far as Mrs. Creber Newsum was con¬ 
cerned she had better go slow. By now Miss Ame¬ 
thyst Du Ranee knew enough of Europe to be aware 
that in the eyes of a Mrs. Creber Newsum, with her 
Fifth Avenue, Long Island, flat-in-Paris, villa-in-Italy 
style, she was very much, at present, “the wrong kind 
of American.” 

However, she was not always going to be the wrong 
kind of American. But for the moment, knowing as 
much as she did, and being able to guess at what she 
didn’t, she intended to imitate the motions of a char¬ 
acter famous in the Bible. She would walk delicately. 

Miss Du Ranee was not flustered at all. She had 
been through the fire at Clanborough House, she had 
learned a few things and she had the moral support of 
an influential and an able friend. Just how able that 
friend was she discovered within the next two minutes. 

“Mrs. Creber Newsum,” said Lady Violet, in a 
voice that sounded quite impressive, “this is my friend 
Miss Du Ranee of Chicago.” 

It was odd, but Marne perceived in a flash the tacti¬ 
cal value of the “Chicago/’ Somehow it seemed to 
account for her in a general way, whereas the Iowa, 
let alone the Cowbarn, might have accounted for her 
much too definitely, at any rate in the eyes of Mrs. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


159 

Creber Newsum. Beyond a doubt, Lady Violet was 
clever. 

Mrs. Creber Newsum glanced at Mame, more in 
sorrow than in anger. Then she offered her hand as 
if it rather hurt her to do so; and then she withdrew 
it as if the touch of Marne’s fingers was a shade more 
than her spotless gloves could bear. Mame felt that 
her compatriot—she couldn’t tell exactly how she knew 
Mrs. Creber Newsum was an American, but she would 
have bet a hundred and fifty dollars that she was— 
was slightly overdoing the aristocracy racket. On Fifth 
Avenue it might have seemed all right; but it was so 
consciously “high-grade,” that it had a tendency to get 
on the nerves of common folks. 

The introduction had just been got over with real 
queenliness on the one side—Mrs. Creber Newsum 
simply couldn’t help being queenly—and real discretion 
on the other, when Mame surprised the broadest smile 
she had yet seen on the averted face of Lady Violet. 
Plainly her friend was enjoying the moment hugely. 
What there was to be secretly so amused about, Mame 
couldn’t guess. But the smile of Lady Violet set her 
thinking. 

Mrs. Creber Newsum sat slowly on an ottoman, 
about as far from her small compatriot as she could 
conveniently get. And then she said in a rather high 
but agreeable voice, although much troubled with cul¬ 
ture, “Have you been in England long, Miss Du 
Ranee ?” 

“Five weeks and four days,” said Mame. 


i6o THERE IS A TIDE 

“Five weeks and four days/* Mrs. Creber Newsum 
repeated softly. “An interesting experience for you, 
is it not?” 

Mame was not to be drawn. The conversation as 
far as it touched Mrs. Creber Newsum and herself 
seemed to languish. But neither Cousin Edith nor 
Lady Violet was the kind of person who would permit 
it to languish generally. They had it well in hand. It 
could be wound up and set going just as soon as they 
chose, but Lady Violet, at least, wanted to see what 
the two Americans would make of each other. 

As a matter of fact she knew. And there was no 
need to wait for her prescience to be demonstrated. 
But for some reason, these differing types greatly 
amused her. Perhaps she rather wanted to see what 
the homely little barnyard chick would make of the 
superlative cosmopolitan peacock. She knew exactly 
what the peacock had made already of the little chick. 

Marne’s quick brain was busy even if her tongue was 
inert. She would get no good of Mrs. Creber Newsum 
and she must be particularly careful that the high-flyer 
did not call her bluff. As she sat listening to the light 
and clever talk of these new friends she determined 
from now on to watch her step with unceasing vigilance. 
The chances that were coming her way must be stepping 
stones to her great ambition; but she must expect no 
help and no mercy from the Mrs. Creber Newsums of 
the earth. 

Cousin Edith soon began to address mild and non¬ 
committal nothings to Miss Du Ranee, to ease, as it 


THERE IS A TIDE 


161 


were, Chicago’s burden in the presence of Cosmopolis. 
Mame felt humbly grateful. Cousin Edith was a kind 
of natural dear. And Mame was sure she had as much 
culture as Mrs. Creber Newsum, but that she preferred 
to conceal it rather than to cut a dash. But what 
really interested Miss Du Ranee was not the talk of 
Cousin Edith. She was responsive and polite, but one 
ear was kept open for the cavortings of Mrs. Creber 
Newsum and Lady Violet. 

It was wonderful, the assurance and the calm with 
which Lady Violet lit on highbrow subjects. Duse, 
Caesar Franck, Tchehov, Marcel Proust, all that kind 
of dope; she could take Mrs. Creber Newsum over 
the course without putting a foot wrong. She had no 
airs about it either. But she could ladle out high-brow 
eye-wash till the cows came home, merely as a matter 
of course. Mrs. Creber Newsum, however, seemed to 
inflate. Mame resolved to study this kind of cross talk. 
A useful trick to learn. 

Pretty soon other folks began to pile in and, from 
Marne’s viewpoint, things grew still more entertaining. 
Lady So and So; Mrs. This; Miss That. She did not 
always catch their names, or at least her memory, 
usually so good, was not always able to retain them. 
Some she was introduced to; some she was not; but no 
matter whom she found herself up against, she was 
careful to maintain a Biblical style of progress. 

Most of these dashers thought her dull, no doubt. 
Let them. She must play for safety. Some of them 
eyed her curiously; they couldn’t quite conceal a 


THERE IS A TIDE 


162 

“Hulloa-what-are-you-doing-here?” sort of look. But 
the fairly large room began to fill. And the fuller it 
became the more at ease grew Maine. There was a 
better chance to take cover. 

This crowd was worth observing at close range. 
Marne did not let the opportunity slip. The proper 
study of mankind is man. According to the office 
calendar some wise guy had pulled that in the reign of 
Queen Anne. Marne had already developed consider¬ 
able powers in that direction. She was getting quite 
expert at sizing folks up. 

Socially speaking, she now divided her fellow crea¬ 
tures into two classes. Class A, on the level. Class B, 
four-flushers. Nothing had surprised her more in New 
York than the prevalence of Class B. They were every¬ 
where. And, as far as she was concerned, they were 
highly dangerous people. One of their chief delights 
was to call the bluff of their competitors. 

London also suffered from Class B. It was less 
dominant, however, than on the other side of the Atlan¬ 
tic. And for the most part, in London they were four- 
flushers with a difference. They saw bigger, they car¬ 
ried more sail; perhaps they were older hands at the 
game. 

Even Lady Violet’s smart drawing room was not 
wholly free of Class B. As the place got fuller and 
fuller and the tea and cake began to circulate, the other 
sex made a bit of a show. Marne welcomed them as a 
pleasing diversion. She gave far less thought to men 


THERE IS A TIDE 163 

as a rule than she gave to women. Somehow she felt 
that she had so much less to fear from them. 

London, she had heard, was rather famous for its 
men. They were said to wear their clothes better than 
any in the world. That might be so. But among those 
who blew in upon 16b Half Moon Street this afternoon 
were one or two whose clothes ought not to have been 
worn by anybody. Artistic johns, no doubt. One in 
particular, large, shambling, big-kneed, loud-voiced, 
had a regular Fifth of November appearance. 

Marne was so struck by him that she asked her right- 
hand neighbour, a very knowledgeable girl who unmis¬ 
takably belonged to Class A and who was full of nat¬ 
ural elegance, who he was. 

“Shelton France Mackelland, the Canadian poet,” 
the girl informed her. 

“A Canuck, is he ?” She wondered how he dared. 

“Don’t you know his famous volume of poems, 
The Old Shack?” 

Marne confessed that she did not. 

“I adore them myself.” The girl, who was very 
pretty and quite simple, spoke with an unpremeditated 
innocence that Marne liked but deplored. Class A girls 
of this sort made it altogether too easy for Class B 
people to get away with it. 

“No use for Canucks.” Marne looked towards 
Shelton France Mackelland with open hostility. “They 
are the worst kind of tinhorns mostly.” 

Sweetly and gravely the girl begged Marne’s pardon. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


164 

This odd, fierce, untamed little American was using 
what to her was a foreign language. 

Before Marne could fully expound what her attitude 
was towards the Canucks of the earth, a young man of 
a different sort bore down upon her with a plate of 
cakes. He was the identical Bill whom Marne had 
admired so much when she had first seen him two 
weeks ago. This afternoon he was looking nicer than 
ever. A picture of health and comeliness, he was doing 
enormous credit to his tailor. And his manners were 
most engagingly frank. Even in the eyes of an ob¬ 
server severely democratic they hadn’t a suspicion of 
“lugs.” 

“I like that one,” said Marne, after the bearer of 
the cakes had passed on. She bit a piece out of her 
recently acquired bun and found brandy in the heart 
of it. “If I was falling in love I’ll say he’d be the baby 
for me.” 

The friendly neighbour glanced at her in mild but 
furtive wonder. 

“I didn’t get his name ?” said Marne interrogatively. 

“That’s my cousin Kidderminster.” 

“Kidderminster, is it?” In what connection had she 
heard the name ? She suddenly remembered. “I guess 
he’s some relation of Lady Violet’s.” 

“Her brother.” 

For a reason Marne could not‘have explained her 
heart gave a little jump. “That’s bully,” she mur¬ 
mured. And then she went on, less perhaps from a 


THERE IS A TIDE 165 

desire for information than to divert attention from her 
own enthusiasm. “Then you, I s’pose, are Lady 
Violet’s cousin ?” 

“One of many,” said the girl. “Violet has any 
amount of cousins. Singly heaps and heaps of rela¬ 
tions.” 

“Plenty of influence?” The true meaning of that 
mystic word was now being revealed to Marne. 

“Yes, in a way, one would say she had. But she’s 
got any amount of brains, as well, you know.” 

Marne was quite sure that Lady Violet had. 

“Everybody thinks her so clever.” 

“Earns a big income, I guess.” 

“I believe so. And perfectly wonderful how she 
gets about. Goes everywhere. Knows everybody.” 

“Pulls the big stuff.” 

“I beg your pardon.” A simple sort of tulip, this 
girl. 

“Kinda got all the strings in her hand,” said Marne, 
trying to be lucid. 

“Most of them, I think. Anyway she has a tre¬ 
mendously good time.” 

The folks began to get a bit thinner, to diminish by 
twos and threes. Marne, having had a most entertain¬ 
ing afternoon, decided not to outstay her welcome. She 
rose and crossed to Lady Violet, who was talking very 
quick French to a foreign-looking bozo, with an im- 
perial and a braided jacket, who stood peering over his 
teacup into her eyes. 


166 


THERE IS A TIDE 


“Can I come and see you again?” Mame offered a 
white glove, in which she took considerable pride, at 
the precise angle she had discovered to be fashionable. 

“Oh, please, please!” Lady Violet spoke as if she 
really meant it. “And quite soon, you know.” 

The cheery warmth of the words left Mame with a 
feeling that she was taking leave of a real friend. 


XXII 


"IX^HEN Mame had stepped into the lift outside the 
door of 16b, by pure coincidence she found it 
occupied already by the tall, immaculate top-hatted form 
of Bill. It was a piece of luck. She had taken quite 
a fancy to this young man and was ready to seize a 
chance of improving the acquaintance. 

“I hope you enjoyed yourself,” he said, with hearty 
and cheerful politeness. 

Miss Du Ranee left him no sort of doubt upon that 
point. “Lady Violet’s your sister, ain’t she?” 

Bill said she was. Further he remarked in genial 
brotherly fashion: “A good sort, old Vi! And clever 
as blazes, you know. Got clean away with all the brains 
of our family.” 

Mame offered no comment, but she felt somehow 
that it was highly probable. Bill, with all his charm 
and manliness, made no pretence at intellect. But in 
the opinion of Miss Du Ranee he had better things to 
show. 

When they reached the ground floor and found them¬ 
selves in the vestibule, Bill said, “Can I get you a taxi 
or anything?” 

“Are you taxi-ing yourself?” inquired the judicious * 
Mame. 

167 


THERE IS A TIDE 


168 

“No, I’m hitting the pike.” Bill was proud of his 
American. 

“Same here. Which way you going?” 

“Along Piccadilly as far as St. James’s Street.” 

Marne was going along Piccadilly as far as the Cir¬ 
cus. They might walk together if he didn’t mind. 

Bill said he was enchanted. Perhaps he was. There 
was nothing in his manner to suggest the contrary. An 
amusing little puss. She seemed different from all the 
other girls he knew. He must ask Vi what part of the 
States she came from. Perhaps he might have asked 
the amusing little puss herself had he not been kept 
so busy answering the questions she put to him. 

The number of questions Bill had to answer in their 
pleasant saunter up the street, and across the road, and 
by the Green Park railings was astonishing. But he 
didn’t mind at all. In fact he rather liked it. She was 
as fresh as paint. And simply rippling with intelli¬ 
gence. No end of punch in her, too. Yes, she was 
altogether different from the other girls he knew. As 
for her comically expressive phrases, she sort of fired 
them off, a hundred to the minute, like some jolly old 
Maxim gun. 

At the top of Saint James’s Street, they came to a 
stop and Bill remarked: “I get off here.” 

Miss Du Ranee looked a trifle disappointed. 

“Goin’ into my pothouse to play a game at snooker. 
Into that funny old box, yonder, with the bow win¬ 
dow.” Bill’s hand indicated Ward’s Club just oppo¬ 
site. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


169 

Somehow, yet without saying so, little Miss Du 
Ranee, the quaint and charming American, was able 
to convey that to her mind for such an upstanding 
young fellow to spend a fair spring evening in that way 
was a pity. 

“Daresay she’s right/’ mused Bill. A bit of a 
thought reader, Bill. 

‘Tm going as far as the Circus,” said the droll 
minx. 

It really was such a fine evening that Bill suddenly 
decided that he might walk as far as the Circus for 
the good of his health. 

When the young man had been steered in safety past 
the dangerous corner, the ply of questions began again. 

Did he like living in London? What was his 
favourite flower? Did he care for jazz music? Who 
was his favourite author? Wasn’t it just a bore to 
be a blood-peer? Did he like fishing better than gun¬ 
ning? Or did he like gunning better than fishing? He 
played polo of course? How did he like the Prince of 
Wales? What did he think of soldiering? By the 
way, what was the name of his regiment? She had 
heard, but had forgotten. 

“The Pinks.” 

“Why were they called the Pinks ?” 

“A sort of rival show to the Blues.” 

“But why the Blues ?” 

Bill shook his head and laughed. “Why anything?” 

“Yes—why anything?” 

“Had he got a decoration?” 


THERE IS A TIDE 


170 

As a matter of fact he had several. And a little 
shamefacedly he admitted it. 

Then why didn’t he wear them? 

People didn’t wear their decorations except on full- 
dress occasions. 

“If I had a V. C.,” said Miss Du Ranee, “I should 
just wear it any old time. And King George himself 
wouldn’t stop me.” 

Without going so far as to offer contradiction, Bill 
seemed a little inclined to doubt it. 

Howbeit that was neither here nor there. And their 
walk was most enjoyable. Bill was kept in a ripple 
of amusement. This little Miss Du Ranee was the 
livest thing out. As for her ply of questions it was so 
unexpected that it never became tiresome. Perhaps it 
was because she was so nailingly pretty. Those serious 
grey eyes were as good as anything he had seen in a 
month of Sundays. 

When they got to the Tube in Piccadilly Circus said 
Miss Du Ranee, in whose voice was regret: “I must 
leave you now. You can go back to your snooker. 
But I am just awfully pleased and proud to have met 
you.” She held forth a neat white glove. “I do hope 
we shall meet again.” 

Bill said, as he grasped the white glove fervently: 
“We must—if you do think so.” 

“I don’t say what I don’t think.” The sternness of 
Miss Du Ranee was perfectly killing. 

Bill, who was still enjoying every moment of her, 
ventured to hope that she didn’t. And as an earnest 


THERE IS A TIDE 


171 

of that he went on to ask, tentatively, whether she cared 
for dancing. 

‘Til say yes.” 

“That’s splendid! We must get Vi to arrange a 
party one afternoon for the Orient Dance Club.” 
“When?” 

Bill was hardly prepared to be picked up in that way. 
Such businesslike promptitude was a threat to his 
gravity. “One day next week if it can be managed and 
it’ll be convenient to you.” 

Next week, any old day, would be quite convenient 
to Miss Du Ranee. At that they left it. 


XXIII 


W AYS and means were still a problem for Marne. 

The one hundred and fifty dollars, which had 
dropped like manna from the sky, were not going to 
carry her far. One cannot live on the air of London, 
England, solid though it may be compared with the 
champagne of New York. Even in that exhilarating 
climate one needs plenty of “dough” to carry on from 
day to day. 

Miss Du Ranee was by way of having quite a lot 
of success. Socially she had gone much further than 
she could have dared to hope in so short a time. Her 
foot was now planted well on the ladder, but she must 
take care lest she climb to an altitude a little too dizzy. 
It is so easy to lose one’s head. 

Shrewd to the bone, a true daughter of the Middle 
West, she felt she had better call a halt and look around. 
It had been a rare bit of luck to strike these friends, 
hut the margin of her resources was so narrow that 
unless she could add to it pretty soon, and also find 
other means of income, she would not be able to stay 
the course. 

The situation was again growing serious. Those 
few providential dollars were already melting like 
snow. True, she now felt entitled to count on another 
172 


THERE IS A TIDE 


173 


draft from Elmer P. at an early date, but precisely 
when it would come she didn’t know. Besides even 
when it arrived it was not going to last very long. No, 
it would be wrong to shirk the fact that the margin 
upon which she was working was uncomfortably small. 

This fact came directly home to her, when, about 
three days after her walk with Bill along Piccadilly, she 
received a hurried line from Lady Violet, suggesting 
that on that day week they should make up a party for 
tea and dancing at the Orient Club, Knightsbridge. If 
Miss Du Ranee cared for that sort of thing she might 
find it rather amusing. 

As it happened few girls cared more for it than 
Marne. Even in her primitive Cowbarn epoch, an 
occasional dance with the best and brightest of the 
boys had been her favourite, indeed her only, means 
of recreation. Moreover, in New York a certain 
amount of time had been given to the cultivation of the 
art. She had always felt it to be within the range of 
her lightly tripping toes to tread a measure in the best 
company. Dancing harmonised with her vitality and 
her love of movement. Had she not seriously consid¬ 
ered having herself trained for vaudeville? 

Keen as she was to fall in with Lady Violet’s sug¬ 
gestion, she was also wise enough to scent the peril. 
One way or another it would mean further expendi¬ 
ture that she really could not afford. The position 
was rather maddening. Her future, as she saw it, as 
she had planned it, as she had fully determined that it 
should be, lay with these influential and attractive folks. 


174 


THERE IS A TIDE 


Perhaps she was a little snob, but this sort of life quite 
spoiled one for any other. 

Still, money was needed to live it. Money was 
needed all the time. Unless one knew how to get it 
regularly and in good sums one would surely be wise 
to turn aside from the lures of English society. 

Instinctively Marne felt that she ought not to accept 
Lady Violet’s invitation. She would be getting into 
deeper water than she cared about. Delightful as the 
sun and the ripples were upon the waves, she was noth¬ 
ing like a strong enough swimmer at present to trust 
herself to that treacherous sea. Yet, alas, there was a 
second instinct, equally powerful, which recalled a 
favourite text in the office calendar: There is a Tide. 

That fly-marked old calendar had a wonderful 
knack of turning out to be true. There was a Tide, 
not a doubt of it. And Marne Durrance was poised 
upon the top, but so precariously that if she didn’t 
watch out she would find herself in difficulties; for at 
present she had not learned to swim beyond a very few 
strokes. But she was there all right, on the crest of the 
wave. And somehow she felt the power rising within 
her to breast those waters. She would sure be the 
worst fool alive if now she went back on her chances. 


XXIV 


WEEK passed. Miss Du Ranee taxi’d again to 



Half Moon Street; this time with a brand new 
pair of dancing slippers gracing her small but lively 
feet. The paucity of her remaining dollars was begin¬ 
ning to alarm her now. No further word had come 
from New York. But whatever happened she was 
going to follow her luck. 

She found Lady Violet seated before a typewriter, 
clucking away as if for dear life. This was a form of 
effort with which Marne was only too familiar. 

“So sorry.” Lady Violet glanced up from her task. 
“Please excuse me five minutes. I’m all behind as 
usual. This weekly syndicate letter is such a bore. 
One tangled mass of detail.” She made a wry mouth. 
“Always leave it to the last moment. How can one 
find anything new to say about the high class under¬ 
wear at Peary’s and Hodnett’s Annual Spring Sale? 
Help yourself to a gasper. The box on the table. And 
that’s the new novel of Loti, by the side of it; the one 
with the paper cover. My review for the Courier 
has to be in to-morrow. Luckily one doesn’t have to 
say anything new about Loti, does one?” 

Marne did not smoke and she did not read French. 
But when in Rome, had said Paula Ling; or was it the 


175 


THERE IS A TIDE 


176 

office calendar that had said it for her? She left the 
silver box alone but took up the latest work of Pierre 
Loti with the air of a connoisseur. 

The book, however, did not claim much of her at¬ 
tention. She sat watching Lady Violet work. In the 
sight of an expert she was by no means skilful; it was 
rather pathetic to see her dabbing with one uncertain 
finger of each hand. She also lent an ear to Lady 
Violet’s stream of whimsical complaint and humorous 
apology. Plainly this journalistic egg was bored by 
her luck. That old syndicate of hers was surely worth 
good and regular money. If only—! But why indulge 
vain thoughts? 

In ten minutes, or less, Lady Violet was through. 
She shovelled her copy, some twenty badly typed pages, 
into a large envelope; sealed and addressed it; then 
with a comic sigh of relief she picked up the meer¬ 
schaum holder and had recourse to the silver box. “So 
sorry,” she apologized for the nt h time. “But we are 
not expected at the Orient until five.” 

She rang for Davis, that treasure among parlour 
maids, of whose old-family-retainer air Marne was a 
shade in awe, and set down as “sniffy.” To Davis the 
envelope was handed; she was told to send it at once 
to Fleet Street by district messenger. And she was 
asked to get a taxi. 

In a time surprisingly short, as it seemed to Marne, 
the maid had returned to say that the taxi awaited 
them. Lady Violet crammed on an expensive hat 
without seeming to care, but Marne realised that she 


THERE IS A TIDE 


1 77 


had a marvellous knack of looking right in all 
circumstances. Paula Ling would not have treated a 
hat that way, not on her life. As for Marne herself, 
she had already taken a full twenty minutes to fix her 
own before starting from Fotheringay House. But 
this skirt flopped it on and there you were. Marne 
would have liked Paula to have seen her. 

If Marne could have banished the feeling of being 
on such terribly thin ice, she would have enjoyed her¬ 
self immensely at the Orient Dance Club. The floor 
was good; the band, although by no means equal to 
what New York could do—in Marne’s opinion it was 
hardly at the Cowbarn level in its interpretation of 
jazz music—was still well enough for London, Eng¬ 
land. All the folks were real select, even if their danc¬ 
ing was nothing to write home about. As for the soft 
drinks and the eats, they were quite O. K. But these 
matters, grave in their way, were of minor importance. 

The really vital things, when all was said, were the 
lounge lizards with whom Marne was privileged to take 
the floor. First of all there was Bill. He was not as 
light in hand as Elmer P., to mention only one of 
Cowbarn’s kernoozers. Even if he didn’t move just 
naturally to jazz music he was a good trier. Marne 
was wise enough not to expect too much of the bo in 
the matter of hitting the parquet. But even if he was 
no star, and his stiff British joints would have been 
none the worse for a little oil, he was well enough, 
he would serve. 

Anyhow the young man appeared to enjoy himself. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


178 

He was all smiles and willingness and good humour. 
Marne felt quite proud of him as she guided his some¬ 
what errant steps amid the Chick if slightly immobile 
throng. She also felt rather proud of herself. It was 
not a real top-notch dancing as she understood the art, 
but she had a kind of hunch that she was sort of cutting 
a shine. 

Bill was only one among the lads of the village. 
There were others; to the taste of Miss Du Ranee per¬ 
haps not so choice as he; still she was nowise ashamed 
to be seen with them in the centre of the floor. For 
the most part they were Bill’s brother officers and 
school pals and so on. And all were regular fellows 
even if they did not quite know how to move to rag¬ 
time. 

What struck Marne as the chief difference between 
this mild festivity and a hop in her native land was 
the quietness of it all. The folks were so much more 
solemn, so much more serious. There was no whirling 
you off your feet, no shouting; compared with Cow- 
barn, Iowa, or even New York, it was rather like a 
high-class funeral. Marne had a powerful desire to 
let herself out a bit. However, she soon concluded 
that it would not be wise to do so. When in Rome! 
. . . particularly when Rome has not even heard of 
the Monkey Clutch! 

Still, these handsome, strapping, brown-faced, blue¬ 
eyed mothers’ boys were very friendly and very pleas¬ 
ant. Marne noticed that Lady Violet took to them 
quite kindly. She was the best dancer there, Marne 


THERE IS A TIDE 


179 


considered, barring of course present company, and a 
couple of professionals, who had New York written 
all over them, although said to be French. But Lady 
Violet was a very good mover indeed, in an amateurish 
way. She had evidently benefited by her American 
experience; she got these lads around in proper style; 
and she seemed a great favourite with them all. A real 
sport Marne considered her. 

The same applied to Bill; also to his friends and 
brothers in arms. And they had excellent taste in ices 
and cakes and in nice soft drinks; although the best 
drink of all, that was called Cup, was not so soft either. 
For a rather backward village like London things really 
went pretty well. If Miss Du Ranee could have forgot¬ 
ten for a single moment that she was dancing on a 
full-sized volcano she would have thoroughly enjoyed 
herself. 

Apart from the uncomfortable feeling that she ought 
not to be there at all, Marne was conscious of only one 
other blot on the proceedings. Not so much a blot as 
a cloud. And yet cloud was hardly the word. Every¬ 
body was so charming to everybody, so kind and so 
polite and yet so quietly merry, that it was a hunch 
rather than a rock-bottom fact which ever so slightly 
took the edge off Marne’s enjoyment. 

The hunch assumed the form of a Miss Childwick. 
She was a hefty girl of twenty-three, buxom, upstand¬ 
ing, and a looker as Marne was bound to own. Lady 
Violet sought an early opportunity of telling her little 
friend that this was a regular Croesus of a girl, the sole 


i8o 


THERE IS A TIDE 


heiress of Childwick’s Three Ply Flannelette, whose 
singular merits were the theme of every hoarding from 
Land’s End to Hong Kong. 

Miss Childwick’s money would not have mattered 
so much, but where the snag came, as it seemed to 
Miss Du Ranee, was that its statuesque owner, as Lady 
Violet also took an early opportunity of making known 
to her, was very keen on Bill. In other words, although 
Lady Violet did not put it quite so crudely, it was up 
to the little lady from Cowbarn, Iowa, to keep off the 
grass. 

Speaking strictly by the card, there was of course no 
particular reason why Miss Du Ranee should keep off 
the grass. Bill was fair game for any little angler who 
really understood the use of a bug and pole. But Lady 
Violet gave a sort of hint that it would hardly be 
cricket for Miss Du Ranee to butt in and spoil things. 
Miss Childwick was so rich that everybody in London 
and Shropshire hoped very much that she and Bill 
were going to make a match of it. 

That’s all very well, thought Marne. Evidently she 
considers it will be unsporting of me to dance more 
than twice with the dandiest bird on the bough. At all 
events, if these were not exactly Lady Violet’s own 
views, it was a fair presumption they were the views of 
Miss Childwick. In fact the Celebrated Three Ply 
Flannelette had already given the Funny Little Ameri¬ 
can a once-over at pretty close range. Her fine eyes 
seemed to glow out at the good grey ones of Miss Du 
Ranee from every quarter of the room. And each time 


THERE IS A TIDE 181 

they did so they seemed to glow with the light of 
battle. 

Marne did not blame Miss Childwick altogether. 
Human nature is just as liable to be human nature at 
the Orient Dance Club, Knightsbridge, London, Eng¬ 
land, as at the Temple of Terpsichore, Cowbarn, Iowa, 
or any other dive you care to name. 

No, Miss Du Ranee did not really blame Miss Child¬ 
wick for sending a sort of general warning along the 
wires. But where she did blame Miss Childwick was 
for trying to put one over on her. When she came to 
think about it afterwards she was not exactly sure 
that the Three Ply Flannelette had really meant to do 
that, but it certainly looked uncommonly like it. When 
you are mozing around with the real nutty bits of 
nougat in Knightsbridge, London, England, it is easier, 
no doubt, to be mistaken than in a small burg in a Mid¬ 
dle Western state. 

What really happened was, that after Miss Du Ranee 
had put Bill through his paces the second time in three, 
and they had encored a vanilla ice and cracker, and 
were just going to take the floor the third time in four, 
up barges the Three Ply Flannelette, all smiles and 
politeness, yet with an undercurrent of just owning 
the earth, though perhaps not really meaning it. And 
Bill, for all his dyed-in-the-wool niceness, at heart a 
simpleton, chose that identical moment to make his old 
friend Miss Childwick known to his new friend, Miss 
Du Ranee of Chicago. 

If ever youth, since the world began, simply insisted 


THERE IS A TIDE 


182 

on finding trouble, it was the tactless Bill. Miss Child- 
wick’s eyes snapped and Miss Du Ranee did not blame 
her. The eyes of Miss Du Ranee snapped back and it 
is to be hoped that Miss Child wick attached no blame to 
her either. It was a mere temperamental action on the 
part of Miss Du Ranee. Honours were easy over that 
course. But immediately there followed the passage, 
which, brief as it was, caused Marne seriously to ask 
herself whether this girl was not trying to put one over 
on her. 

Perhaps, after all, it did not amount to that. When, 
in cool blood, in the seclusion of her chamber, Miss Du 
Ranee pondered Miss Childwick, quietly and sincerely, 
extenuating nought, yet attributing nothing to her in 
malice, she reached the conclusion that she had no real 
ground of complaint against the Three Ply Flannelette, 
beyond the fact that it looked a little too superior. Per¬ 
haps it didn’t mean to really. But she was one of those 
trained-to-the-minute girls whom Marne had glimpsed 
from time to time taking the air on Riverside Drive, 
previous, as Paula Ling declared, to their sailing for 
Europe in search of a stray Italian prince or British 
earl. 

Miss Childwick had just that air. You could not 
call it “lugs.” It was something deeper, more full of 
meaning and less irritating than the quality the Brit¬ 
ishers speak of as “side.” She had an I-mean-to-be-a- 
marchioness-if-it-kills-me look about her, which did 
not accord with the democratic notions of Miss Du 
Ranee. No, they could never be real friends. And that 


THERE IS A TIDE 


183 

was why, having been warned to keep off the grass, 
little Miss Du Ranee was not quite clear in her 
own little mind whether she was going to obey the 
signal. 

After all, a cat may look at a king even if it is not 
allowed to look at a canary. What sport it would be 
to get into the cage when Miss Three Ply was not 
about. Before now such things had happened. In fact 
they were always happening. It would not be the first 
occasion by many that a small outsider had made her 
way into a private aviary. 

Still, at the moment such thoughts were far removed 
from the region of the practical. Yet Bill was a mar¬ 
quis, so his sister said. Therefore he was simply ask¬ 
ing for trouble, from even the humblest of Columbia’s 
daughters. If Miss Three Ply, who had kind of 
appointed herself to look after the sweet rube, did not 
watch out, some other young skirt might easily get 
away with his coronet. 

However, these were vain thoughts. At the present 
time Miss Du Ranee had about fifty dollars between 
herself and bankruptcy. So really and truly the ice 
was thin. But she was determined to yield to the 
passing hour, even if she could never quite forget her 
nearness to unplumbed fathoms of icy water. 

If she could have laid that knowledge by, these two 
crowded hours at the Orient Dance Club would have 
been the joiliest ever. This was a real taste of life. 
All was harmony, gaiety, good-humoured fun. But the 
clock struck seven, the band stopped playing, the danc- 


184 


THERE IS A TIDE 


ers began to collect their taxis. Then it was that a 
kind of Cinderella feeling came upon Mame. 

The ball was over. The dream was at an end. She 
would have to go back to Montacute Square, to inferior 
food and inferior people, to drudgery and grubbing, 
to the forming of plans for a mighty precarious to-mor¬ 
row. As she stood on the Club steps by the side of 
Lady Violet, who was giving her friends a cheerful 
good-bye, Marne’s heart sank. She had been lifted 
up only to be cast down. Life was pretty tough for 
girls of her sort, with nothing between them and the 
weather. She watched Bill hand Miss Childwick into 
the smartest limousine imaginable, with chauffeur and 
footman complete in dark liveries faced with buff; 
and a Robert-E.-Lee-at-Gettysburg feeling came upon 
her. 

'‘Which way are you goin’ ?” 

Lady Violet’s clear gay voice suddenly impinged 
upon the bitterness of Marne’s reverie. 

Mame hardly knew which way she was going. And 
at that moment she didn’t care. The bottom seemed 
out of things. “Any old way, I guess, is good enough 
for me,” she said despondently. 

Lady Violet laughed. Mame had a great power of 
making this high-flyer laugh, but why she should have 
she didn’t know. But the laugh was friendly and kind; 
it implied no more than an unlimited capacity for seeing 
the most human side of human nature. 

“Will you come and take pot luck with me at my 
club?” 


THERE IS A TIDE 


185 

Nascent hope stirred in Mame. Life could not be 
altogether a washout while twenty-two-carat fairy god¬ 
mothers were out and about in it. 

“Ed just love to do that.” There was no mistaking 
the note of gratitude. 

“Come along, then. But we shall probably get 
nothing to eat. Hen clubs are hen clubs when it comes 
to fodder.’’ 

“Anything in the way of a bone will fix me.” A 
blessed feeling of hope had begun to stir in Mame 
quite strongly again. 

The evening being fine and lit by British summer¬ 
time which puts the clock back an hour, and as the 
club, by name the Ladies Imperium, was only a few 
doors beyond Hamilton Place, there seemed no reason 
why they should not walk. 

Lady Violet said good-bye to her friends and several 
of them, including Bill and one or two of his brother 
officers, said good-bye to Miss Du Ranee. And then 
these ladies strode off towards what the hostess prophe¬ 
sied would be the worst dinner in Europe. 

Privately Mame doubted that. What she called the 
“worst” dinner and what Lady Violet called one were 
likely to come out of very different casseroles. A fort¬ 
night ago Miss Amethyst Du Ranee might have argued 
the point, but in the past fourteen days a lot of water 
had flowed between the arches of London Bridge. She 
was not so certain of the things she knew and far more 
certain of the things she didn’t know. Anyhow, she 


THERE IS A TIDE 


186 

was much less free with her opinions than she had 
been a fortnight ago. 

They turned in at Albert Gate and took that pleas¬ 
ant path which the Metropolitan Force had managed to 
close against the wiser members of the public at night¬ 
fall. But night as yet had not fallen. None the less 
Miss Du Ranee was stirred by certain memories. She 
kept a shrewd eye open for a certain dour-faced Scots 
constable. 

There was not a sign of the young officer. Perhaps 
there was still a little too much light in the sky, away 
beyond the statue of Achilles. It might have been 
Marne’s idiom, her personal force, her gift of mimicry, 
but all the way from the park gates to the marble 
portico of the Ladies Imperium her friend was kept in 
a state of mirth. Even when they had emerged from 
the cloak room and made their way up the fine staircase 
as far as the salle a manger, the hostess of Miss Du 
Ranee was still inclined to smile. She was great fun, 
this girl. 

The Club’s most popular member had no difficulty in 
choosing a table for two, in a comfortable corner. As 
they sat down, she glanced at the menu. “You mustn’t 
expect terrapin and canvasback here, you know,” she 
said apologetically, handing the card to Marne. 

Their first choice was plovers’ eggs, with cutlets and 
a charlotte russe to follow; a light and eupeptic meal. 
Miss Du Ranee was offered a dry Sauterne to go with 
it. But the guest, in spite of agreeable memories of a 
recent “cup,” was by way of being a pussyfoot. That 


THERE IS A TIDE 


18? 

creed was good for the health, good for the purse, good 
for the moral nature. Yet having no wish to cast a 
blight on Lady Violet’s ardour, she saw no reason why 
her friend should not order something for herself. 

Lady Violet said there was only one sort of wine 
she really liked and '‘fizz” was the name of it. And it 
was so expensive since the War that she only enjoyed 
drinking it when paid for by other people. But the 
Club had rather a reputation for barley water. To 
prove its bona fides she asked the waitress to bring 
some. 

Marne accepted the first beaker of that mild beverage 
and found it good. The plovers’ eggs, too, were excel¬ 
lent. Still, a quaint combination, as Lady Violet 
remarked. Yet could Cinderella have forgotten for 
one moment the nature of the ice beneath her slippers 
she would have given herself up to frank enjoyment 
of the nicest food she had had in years. 

A spectre was there all the time. But Elmer P. on 
a Lodge night could hardly have been more full of quip 
than Lady Violet. Not only was she witty in herself, 
she seemed a cause of wit in others. First Family was 
writ large upon her, yet she was everybody’s friend. 
She passed the time of day with the majority of her 
fellow members; she had a gay word or a bit of chaff 
for even the staidest of them; and in her frank and 
genial fashion she introduced “my friend Miss Du 
Ranee of Chicago” to a discreetly chosen two or 
three. 

As this delectable meal neared its end Mame was 


i88 


THERE IS A TIDE 


hard set to keep the Cinderella feeling at bay. That 
forward-looking mind of hers could not help contrast¬ 
ing the blithe evening so rapidly wearing thin, with the 
endless procession of drab to-morrows which surely 
lay in wait for her. She loathed the thought of the 
count-every-dollar existence to which she was doomed 
to return. If only she had a couple of thousand or so 
laid up in the bank! For a chance had come to enter 
the life that had such a powerful knack of making every 
other seem not worth while. 

In the midst of these prickly Cinderella thoughts, she 
woke with a little start to the fact that her vis-a-vis 
was gazing at her over the flowers in the centre of the 
table. That was an odd sort of look Lady Violet some¬ 
times had. Once or twice already Marne had surprised 
it stealing across her face; and she couldn’t help won¬ 
dering what it meant. 

“You’ll have a cup of coffee, won’t you?” 

Marne was glad to have a cup of coffee, yet she was 
sure the look on the face of the fairy godmother had 
really nothing to do with that aromatic berry. 

A waitress came with the coffee. 

“Noir? Or sugar and milk?” 

Miss Du Ranee took plenty of sugar and plenty of 
milk. They had lingered over their meal. It had been 
very jolly; and although Marne had been oppressed 
throughout by a sense of destiny she had managed to 
keep up her end. Her free comments on men and 
women, on habits and customs, on powers and princi¬ 
palities had delighted the hostess. This quick-thinking 


THERE IS A TIDE 


189 

child from the back of beyond was an Original. And 
so plucky! And really pretty if she wouldn’t trick her¬ 
self out in that second-rate style! 

The famous meerschaum holder was produced. 
Marne declined a creme-de-menthe and the mildest of 
all imaginable gaspers. Nay, she was in the act of try¬ 
ing to drown her gloom in barley water; a pretty hope¬ 
less task, for that beverage, sound as it may be, is no 
antidote for the blues, when hey! presto! the fairy god¬ 
mother came back into the picture. And poor Cin¬ 
derella suddenly began to sit up and take notice. 

“Did I tell you that Cousin Edith is going abroad 
for the summer?” 

Miss Du Ranee had not been enlightened. 

“Well, she is. Some friends of hers have a villa at 
Lausanne and next week she is off to stay with them 
until September. I shall miss her dreadfully. She is 
such a good sort. And of course she plays propriety at 
Half Moon Street. Personally I don’t mind a row of 
beans, I defy the breath of scandal to touch sweet inno¬ 
cents like Davis and me; but my mother, you know, 
thinks it not quite nice. Anyhow, I am wondering if 
you feel inclined to tolerate Cousin Edith’s room at 
the flat for a month or two?” 

Feel inclined to tolerate! Cinderella’s eyes began 
to glow, yet she kept a rigid silence. For she was 
plunged in some deep and rapid calculations. 

“What do you say ?” 

“Glory, that’s what I’d say.” Marne could not dis¬ 
semble her enthusiasm. As well, no doubt; since it 


THERE IS A TIDE 


190 

was the native force of that enthusiasm which had such 
a tonic effect upon her rather blase friend. 

“A firm offer if you care to take it. ,, The tone was 
amused and casual. “Cousin Edith’s mattress is a 
hard beast, and Davis and I are a pair of Bolshies be¬ 
fore breakfast and a couple of bores after it, but we 
shall be full of gratitude if you’ll come and stand be¬ 
tween us and the milkman, who, according to Davis, 
is a bit of a Don Juan.” 

“Why of course I’ll come. M simply love to. 
But—” 

The meerschaum holder queried the weak word 
But. 

“I’m kind of wondering about the dough.” 

“The dough?” Lady Violet collected new idioms for 
their own sake, but somehow this Americanism had 
eluded her. 

“What you call ‘the dibs’ over here.” 

“My dear child, it won’t cost you a sou. In fact, 
there’s no reason why it shouldn’t be money in your 
purse.” 

Marne’s heart gave a leap. A fairy godmother with 
a vengeance! 

“I don’t get you.” Cinderella spoke half forlornly, 
half with joy. “Your ways aren’t my ways. I’m not 
half the go-getter that you are. Personally I have to 
look both sides of a dollar to see if it’s wearing out in 
the middle.” 

“That’ll be all right. If only you feel inclined to 
ease the white man’s burden, in this case the white 


THERE IS A TIDE 


191 


woman’s, you’ll not need to trouble much about dollars.” 

AE this seemed too good to be true, but Cinderella 
gave trie fairy godmother a very respectful hearing. 

“The fact is, at present I’ve more work than I can 
do. Or perhaps one ought to say more than one cares 
to do. It’s the weekly letter to the provincial papers 
that’s so troublesome. I don’t mind the books and the 
plays and the harmless cackle about the inoffensive 
creatures with whom one occasionally dines out. Most 
of ’em seem rather to like it, if you go a bit careful 
with the trowel. But it’s having to write puffs for 
tradesmen, boosting their white sales and their spring 
pyjamas, that makes one want to tear the bedclothes.” 

Marne listened with intensity, but she didn’t speak. 
Lady Violet went on: “For weeks I’ve been thinking 
of advertising in the Times for a secretary. I don’t 
want to let the thing go; it pays like fun; and if I can 
find some good sportsman who is not afraid of the 
donkey-work she shall have a hundred pounds a year 
and her keep.’ 

Marne was a complex of emotions. But the one 
uppermost was joy. Miracles are no longer in fashion, 
but just now they seemed to be happening at the rate 
of three per ten days. 

“What do you say?” 

It was the kind of billet Marne had been praying for 
every night these seven months past. But it was not 
until she had performed the operation of pinching her¬ 
self mentally to find out if she was truly awake, that 
she quietly answered: “Search me. If I’m not a champ 


192 


THERE IS A TIDE 


on a Remington and don’t write as slick as you can 
shoot it, Fll go back to Ioway by the next boat.” 

“A go then. Cousin Edith leaves Tuesday. When 
can you move in? But no doubt you’ll like to think 
it over?” 

Miss Du Ranee, however, had done her thinking 
already. “Wednesday morning, at ten, I’ll be around at 
Half Moon Street with my trunk—if that’s agreeable.” 

“The sooner the better.” 

So there it was. 

But what a funny world! Cinderella, secretly, was 
still in a maze. She couldn’t get rid of the feeling that 
this new turn of the shuttle was a bit uncanny. 


XXV 


^T^HE morning of Wednesday saw the punctual 
Mame moving into that smart apartment house 
16b Half Moon Street W. In the process, alas, a hole 
was made in her few remaining dollars. But she was 
feeling pretty “good” and therefore a trifle reckless. 
The dream still held. Her luck continued right in. 
Most, .iris in her position would have given a year 
of their lives for such a chance; and she was quietly 
determined to make the most of it. 

Some of the money, which, in spite of her run of 
luck, was giving her so much concern, was spent on 
lending a smarter appearance to her luggage and per¬ 
sonal effects. It was not that she minded her hostess 
so much. She had proved herself a true democrat 
by cottoliing to “little Miss Chicago” as she had hu¬ 
morously christened her. But the nigger in the wood- 
pile was Davis. Her supercilious eyes were far more 
inquisitorial than those of her mistress. A suit case, 
of the right Bond Street breed, and some smart 
new “undies” might do something to appease the 
wretch. At least Miss Du Ranee hoped fervently that 
they would, for deep in her ambitious young heart were 
fear and dislike of Davis. 

However, in spite of straitened means, the new era 
i93 


194 


THERE IS A TIDE 


began promisingly. It was a relief to escape at last 
from the gloom and the hostility of Fotheringay 
House. Marne had never liked the place and the people 
and they had never liked her. She was so much “the 
wrong kind of American” that those who were rapidly 
losing anything in the way of social status they had 
ever possessed had to be on their guard. This odd Miss 
Du Ranee belonged to the very large class of persons 
they simply could not afford to know. 

With the new hostess, however, things were other¬ 
wise. Lady Violet could afford to know anybody and 
everybody. All she asked of whomsoever she knew 
was that they should be straight and if possible amus¬ 
ing. There was no question that Miss Du Ranee from 
the outset had greatly amused her new friend. She had 
stimulated her too; such enthusiasm was infectious. 
Besides, she had ideas. Not all were practicable, but 
they were evidence of a modern and progressive out¬ 
look. In a word “little Miss Chicago” was a force, she 
meant something. Lady Violet, who, in the opinion of 
those among her many friends whose judgment was 
worth the most, “was as clever as they made ’em,” had 
seen from the first that they might be of use to each 
other. 

A few days of the new regime confirmed this view. 
Miss Amethyst Du Ranee, called Marne for short, was 
a find. She was quick to learn, in some things she was 
curiously humble-minded; she had a charming animal 
zest in life and she was a very genuine worker. Indeed, 


THERE IS A TIDE 


195 

the little American really seemed to love work for its 
own sake. 

From Lady Violet’s point of view, this love of work 
was important. Like most Britishers, she herself had 
a hearty dislike of work; at the same time no one 
enjoyed the fruits of it more. It was a necessary evil 
which meant a life of independence. It meant a flat 
of one’s own, money in one’s purse, travel, a modest 
entertaining of one’s friends. 

The Trehernes were influential people, but of late 
years they had grown poor. Since the father’s death, 
ten years ago, their mother had let the London house. 
By living a country life she had been able to keep things 
going during her son’s minority. But now that Bill 
was of age, it was more than ever necessary for his 
mother to pare cheese. What with death duties and the 
cynicism of politicians who lived by robbing the people 
who were in a minority at the polls, they were hanging 
on by their eyelids to the proud position they had in¬ 
herited. One of the string of girls had recently 
married, but it could not be said that the family cir¬ 
cumstances were easy. 

If Lady Violet was to have the kind of life she 
wanted she must work or marry. Of the two evils she 
chose the less. It was not that she disliked men. She 
was far too sensible to draw arbitrary distinctions be¬ 
tween the sexes, but at heart she was celibate. And 
having brains enough to maintain herself in a fitting 
manner, for the present, at all events, she saw no reason 


THERE IS A TIDE 


196 

for bartering the personal freedom which meant more 
to her than anything else in life. 

From the outset Marne proved her worth. In her 
own expressive phrase she was a “go-getter”; and with 
a little kindly mothering she soon began to develop her 
talent. All the “donkey-work” could safely be left to 
Marne. She didn’t mind writing down a dozen columns 
a week to Lady Violet’s fluent dictation; she didn’t 
mind clucking it out on a typewriter. Then, too, she 
had real powers of her own. She could be trusted to 
deal first-hand with all sorts of minor functions, from 
a new film to a sale of lingerie, in an arresting and 
informative manner. She had much of the flair of the 
journalist born. Celimene’s weekly letter grew infi¬ 
nitely less burdensome, and in certain respects more 
worth while. 

Lady Violet generously acknowledged all this. And 
even if the new arrangement meant a slice out of her 
income she soon began to profit in other and unex¬ 
pected ways. Miss Du Ranee had ideas. Before long 
she revealed a power of turning them to commodity. 

Marne had been a week under the happy and fruit¬ 
ful aegis of this new friend, when a second letter arrived 
from New York. Moreover, it contained a cheque. 
And this was welcome as flowers in May, particularly 
as it was made out for double the amount of the first. 

Elmer P. Dobree had also written very nicely. The 
stuff was full of promise; but there was performance 
in it too. The editor of the Monitor was tickled to 
death by it and was asking for more. Of course “the 


THERE IS A TIDE 


197 


blue pencil” was still in use but Elmer P. was full of 
sage advice. Even in the Cowbarn days, he had been, 
but he had the art of giving it in a tactful way. Good 
old Elmer, what a white man he was! Marne gave a 
little sigh of gratitude as she fingered the cheque and 
then re-read the letter of the Monitor s new assistant 
editor. 

When Lady Violet came out of her bath, over which 
she liked to spend at least half an hour between ten 
a. m. and eleven, the letter was handed to her. 

“Tve got an idea,” Marne announced when the letter 
had been duly returned with her friend’s congratula¬ 
tions. “And I want you to come in on it. Now listen, 
hon.” 

“Fire away,” said Lady Violet, elegantly fixing her 
kimono-clad slimness in a bergere chair. 

“Suppose we shoot that weekly syndicate letter upon 
New York? And why shouldn’t they broadcast it all 
over the U. S. ? Or why not a specialty with all the 
latest news and town gossip done in the Chickest style ? 
You see what I mean? Or we might send two letters. 
‘Celimene’ for New York and Boston and Chicago 
and Philadelphia and the highbrow cities; and ‘Marne’ 
for the small towns. Let us mail a couple of specimens 
right now to Elmer P. and put it up to him to work it 
his end. What do you say?” 

Enkindled by Marne’s enthusiasm, which began to 
rise to bubbling point, Celimene could only yield. 

“Easy money, I’ll tell the world.” Marne’s optimism 
was a tax upon the gravity of her friend. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


198 

“If we can put over the he-stuff we might persuade 
Elmer to have it cabled; and then I guess there’d be 
five hundred bucks a week for us cool.” 

“Five hundred bucks a week, honey, you don’t say!” 
Celimene had a sense of humour. But she knew Marne 
well enough by now to appreciate that her flow of ideas 
must be taken seriously. 

Over a pleasant luncheon at the Ladies Imperium, of 
which Marne had been already made an honourary, tem¬ 
porary member, they discussed the details of the plan. 

“Now then, Celimene, come to it. We’ll start in 
this very afternoon. One letter for New York and one 
for Cowbarn, Iowa. Let us turn in that grand new 
opera we saw last night at Covent Garden and the 
private interview you had with that mossy-faced old 
dago who said he was the composer.” 

Celimene approvingly helped Marne to some early 
asparagus. She owned she would never have thought 
of that. 

“You would have, I expect,” said Marne generously. 
“But we must do the thing well. We shall be up against 
all the regular columnists of the New York papers. 
And we must go over bigger and better and brighter 
and breezier. So full of natural pep must we be that 
Elmer’s hair’ll curl like a crocodile’s tail.” 

Go to it they did. That afternoon they worked like 
moles. They skimmed the cream of all that was 
happening in London, England. Marne loosed her 
descriptive powers, which were considerable. She 
guessed she knew just how to tickle the hick towns; 


THERE IS A TIDE 


199 


while Lady Violet, who understood the taste of New 
York and Boston, artfully moderated the transports 
without taking out the pep. 

Several items of spicy gossip were cunningly mingled 
with the regular news. “A little bird whispers that a 
certain Royal duke whose name must not be mentioned 
at the moment is paying court to the only daughter of 
a certain New Jersey banker. Wild horses will not 
force Celimene to divulge the name of the beaut in 
question, but her readers can be assured that when the 
hour of publication approaches they shall know a bit 
sooner than anyone else.” 

“A risk, I fear.” Lady Violet was threatened with 
an attack of conscience. This tit-bit had gone round 
an exclusive dinner-table two nights before. It was 
some way ahead of the newspapers; it had been given 
more or less under the rose, and in Lady Violet’s opin¬ 
ion was a dangerous card to play. With all her Bo- 
hemianism she had inherited an old-fashioned respect 
for certain privacies and decorums. “Our Ambassador 
at Washington, if he happens to see it, may ask ques¬ 
tions. He might want to know who Celimene is. 
Then there would be fuss this side the water and a 
too-enterprising journalist might find her name omitted 
from the next Court. And from our point of view, 
that would be a pity.” 

Marne agreed. At all events with the latter part of 
the reasoning. The entree was going to be one of the 
new firm’s assets. At the same time, the item in ques- 


200 


THERE IS A TIDE 


tion was such a sure card to lead off with, that what¬ 
ever happened she was sorely tempted to use it. 

“That bit of eyewash is going to put the half-nelson 
on the Monitor ” When excited, Miss Du Ranee had a 
tendency to mix her metaphors. 

Her experienced friend shook the head of worldly 
wisdom. “There is Buck House to think of. It would 
be so easy to lose more than we gain.” 

“We’ll gain big money. New York’ll give us a 
contract if we are first with the news. And I guess 
you’ve the influence to live down any bit of unpleasant¬ 
ness,” Marne shrewdly appended. 

Lady Violet shook her head. So much did con¬ 
science trouble her, that even Marne, in whom strong 
passions had been loosed, felt bound to respect it. A 
real pity, all the same. Here was a scoop. The risk, 
therefore, was worth taking. But now that Lady 
Violet was standing on a matter of principle, Marne 
saw that nothing was likely to be gained by argument. 

Among other little bits of spice was one which Marne 
herself felt inclined to query. Celimene laughingly 
suggested that the alliance of one of Britain’s mar¬ 
quises and a certain celebrated Three Ply Flannelette 
might be intelligently anticipated. 

“Oh, but I’ll say not.” 

“It is bound to happen, I assure you,” affirmed the 
sister of the marquis in question. 

“ ’Tisn’t how I read the lines in his hand. And the 
leaves in his teacup. And the spots on his cards.” 

Lady Violet smiled at this decisiveness. But Marne 


THERE IS A TIDE 


201 


was unmoved. ‘‘Besides/’ said she, “do you suppose 
New York and Bawston care a hoot which young skirt 
he’s going to marry?” 

“I agree. And yet not altogether if I may say 
so. Miss C. has American connections.” 

“American connections!” Marne suspected from the 
first that Miss Three Ply’s trained-to-the-minuteness 
had not a European origin. “Go-getting with Poppa’s 
millions, is she?” 

“She is always spoken of as a fresh and charming 
English girl, but Jit wouldn’t surprise one if the rumour 
of her engagenffent to Bill interested certain people of 
importance on Fifth Avenue.” 

“It’d surprise me. I’d be surprised considerable.” 
Marne was careful to keep these musings to herself. 
“If ever I hear the Voice that breathed o’er Eden lift¬ 
ing off the roof of Saint Margaret’s while that pair 
of galoots marches up the aisle you can call me Cissy.” 

So much for Marne’s private thoughts. Wisely, 
however, they were careful not to get themselves ut¬ 
tered in those particular words. 


XXVI 


HESE were great days. It was not long before 



social engagements began to pour in upon Mame. 
She had surmised rightly that Lady Violet had influ¬ 
ence. Indeed this new and most valuable friend 
seemed to have a finger in every pie. Her power of 
“wangling” things was extraordinary. 

There could be no doubt about her popularity. And 
it was not confined to one class. The charlady at the 
flat, the young man who delivered the milk, the stal¬ 
wart ex-soldier who worked the lift, right up to the 
formidable Davis and the princes of the earth were 
one anft' all devoted to her. For one thing she was 
the soul of good humour, with a word and a smile for 
everybody; and she had a divine faculty of loving a 
kind action for its own sake. 

Lady Violet was a general favourite and she had 
many strings to pull. As far as Mame was concerned 
she pulled them freely. Little Miss Chicago began to 
be invited here, there, and everywhere. And surpris¬ 
ingly few questions were asked. At the outset, it is 
true, certain nicely brushed and plucked eyebrows— 
mostly those of Miss Du Ranee’s own countrywomen, 
who seemed to abound in Mayfair—were apt to go up 
at finding her sitting opposite them at dinner and at 


202 


THERE IS A TIDE 


203 


luncheon. But the fact that she was a protegee of 
Lady Violet’s seemed to accredit her, to account for 
her, as it were. 

Mrs. Creber Newsum, quite frankly, had never heard 
the name Du Ranee all the time she had lived in Amer¬ 
ica. Lady Summerscale, nee Vanderdecken, who 
owned to Chicago connections, had never heard of it 
either. As for the dear Duchess, whose great grand¬ 
mother had taken out the original patent for the New 
York Four Hundred, she was sure, my dear, well she 
was quite, quite sure—! 

Still, Marne had luck to begin with. And she had 
excellent brains. Above all she had a very judicious 
and clever sponsor. Lady Violet understood just how 
far she could go with her own particular world. She 
knew its little weaknesses and how to play upon 
them. 

In launching, as much perhaps for her private amuse¬ 
ment as for any other reason, “my friend Miss Du 
Ranee of Chicago,” into this expensive hothouse, she 
contrived to let it be known in her own two-edged 
phrase that this little American “was the richest thing 
that ever happened.” 

Certain people, to whom money was the beginning 
and the end of all things, were only too eager to ac¬ 
cept the phrase at its face value. They took it quite 
literally. Somehow it so fully explained Miss Du 
Ranee. 

“Chicago, my dear.” One lynx-eyed old dowager 
would whisper to another who had the ears of a fox. 


204 


THERE IS A TIDE 


“Poppa was hogs. One hears the money he made in 
the War was fabulous.” 

That accounted for Miss Du Ranee. Five years 
had passed since the Armistice, but the Hogs, all frozen 
and pickled, that Britons of every rank and class had 
been compelled to digest and the prices they had had 
to pay for the privilege during the years of famine had 
crystallised already into one of the permanent tradi¬ 
tions of the race. 

Seeing is believing. The same applies to eating. 
“Hogs, my dear. Poppa was hogs.” It seemed to 
follow, as night follows day, that little Miss Chicago 
simply could not help being the richest thing that ever 
happened. And it was wonderful how the rumour 
spread. Sophisticated souls looked upon Miss Du 
Ranee with awe. 

Marne, at first, was not aware of this interesting 
fact. Even she, cute as she was, did not immediately 
strike to the root of Lady Violet’s subtlety. That little 
event was to come later. But even while Marne dwelt 
in a state of innocence, her uncanny sharpness gave 
her a perception of the role to play. 

As far as Mayfair was concerned Miss Du Ranee 
was the only one of her kind. She was something new. 
And the society in which she began to move had a love 
of novelty. Behind little Miss Chicago, however, was 
something more substantial than mere novelty. So 
cunningly did Lady Violet handle the rumour of her 
dollars that it seemed not only to vindicate Miss Du 
Ranee, it also served to explain her. Great wealth 


THERE IS A TIDE 


205 

was needed to carry off such naivete. Did not the one 
connote the other? Unless in a literal sense she was 
the richest thing that ever happened she could never 
have penetrated so far into the arcana of London’s ex¬ 
clusiveness. And without a colossal fortune how could 
she afford to be the child of nature that she was? 

It was whispered that Pop had begun the War a 
simple farmer of hogs and had ended by cornering 
them. The rapidity of his rise into one of the great 
magnates of the Middle West explained his early de¬ 
cease. It also explained his daughter. Dear Violet 
was receiving a pretty penny for towing her round, it 
was said. Everybody, of her own sex, envied and ad¬ 
mired the courage of that lady. But the more sport¬ 
ing members were laying rather long odds that her pro¬ 
tegee would not be presented at any one of the Sea¬ 
son’s drawing rooms; while the most speculatively in¬ 
clined were ready to lay rather shorter odds that la 
belle Americaine would not even be seen at one of the 
minor Buck House garden parties. 

Beyond a hint from Lady Violet, at the beginning 
of this odyssey in her young life, Marne had nothing 
to go on; but it was wonderful how soon she saw 
what was expected of her. There was, her sponsor 
had laughingly said, a far better chance of Miss Du 
Ranee of Chicago receiving a ticket for the Royal En¬ 
closure at Ascot from the Lord Chamberlain if she 
“stood,” as it were, upon Pop’s mythical wealth, than 
if she took the humbler role of weekly correspondent 
of the New York Monitor. Nay, to be frank, and 


206 


THERE IS A TIDE 


Lady Violet generally was in her arch way, journalism 
cut no ice in the circles in which Mame was ambitious 
to move. Those circles were rippling with inside in¬ 
formation; the value of the entree, journalistically 
speaking, could hardly be exaggerated; but Mame 
should renumber that the key was wrought of dollars 
rather than of sensitive grey matter. 

A nod is as good as a wink sometimes. Mame 
promptly took the hint. She was beginning to set her 
heart on big things. These ambitions would mean a 
considerable increase of expenditure, because even the 
appearance of money cannot altogether be counter¬ 
feited. But every nickel spent now would be a means 
to a definite end. Yet there were anxious moments 
to begin with; and it was well that she had a solid 
rock upon which to lean. 

Financially Marne’s burdens had been much light¬ 
ened by the generosity of her friend. She had no 
house-room to pay for; Cousin Edith’s vacant bed 
was at her disposal gratis. Then, too, she was very 
well paid for her labours upon the weekly syndicate 
letter. 

Quite at the outset of what by all the omens should 
have been a smooth and prosperous voyage there came 
a threat of shipwreck. It so happened that when the 
specimen letter to New York, which finally they de¬ 
cided to sign with the nom de plume Clio, had been 
carefully pondered and copied and sealed ready for 
dispatch, Mame suddenly went back on her too hasty 
decision to let Lady Violet have things all her own way. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


207 


In deference to her scruples the most valuable of their 
assets had been scrapped; the rumour of a Royal 
duke’s engagement to one of America’s queens had 
been cut out. 

At the last moment, however, such a piece of 
quixotism was a little too much for Marne’s news sense. 
She realised the enormous value of this item. They 
were playing for a high stake and yet they were de¬ 
liberately throwing away the ace of trumps. Surely 
it was worth taking a risk. Principles are good things, 
no doubt, but in up-to-date press work they can be 
overdone. 

Lady Violet, as it chanced, was in a hurry to dress 
for the play and an early dinner in the entourage of 
a newspaper magnate; and Marne, who had no engage¬ 
ment of her own that evening, undertook personally 
to register the parcel, so that there should be no mistake 
about its getting to New York. 

Alone with the parcel, alas, the devil tempted her. 
Why, oh why, throw away such a chance as might never 
recur! She turned to the wastepaper basket, fished 
out the discarded item and re-read it wistfully. Be¬ 
yond a doubt it was the very bit of sugar they most 
wanted. As she scanned her native skies there was 
not an editor in New York who would not fall for 
that piece of news. Hardening her heart, she sat down 
at the typewriter, made a fair copy of the crumpled 
script, and then, breaking the sealed packet, she in¬ 
serted the forbidden “par” and sealed it again. 

Even in the midst of the rash act, conscience threat- 


208 


THERE IS A TIDE 


ened Mame with whips and scorpions to follow. But, 
after all, it was an equal partnership; she knew better 
than her friend what the effect would be in New York. 
Besides, why make a mountain out of a molehill? 
Even if there was a shine over this spicy par, they 
would no doubt be able to survive it. In any case there 
was likely to be very substantial compensation. For 
in Marne’s view that tit-bit would clinch the matter. 
It had a real chance of putting them in solid with the 
most worth-while newspapers in America. They 
would be able to get a fine contract for their weekly 
cable and then could snap their fingers at all the mo¬ 
guls between Washington and Windsor. 

Once the fell deed was done, however, and the par¬ 
cel dispatched from the post office in Dover Street, 
Marne’s conscience got busy. It came down upon her 
like a ton of bricks. She had done a thing that even 
complete success would not justify; she had gone back 
on her word; she had been disloyal; she had proved 
that she was simply not to be trusted. And if the 
game went wrong, and Lady Violet had shown con¬ 
clusively that it was a highly dangerous one to play, 
most likely the too-clever Miss Du Ranee would get it 
where the chicken got the axe. 

Mame was not in the habit of repenting her actions. 
Long ago she had steeled her will against a pernicious 
harbouring of regrets; but she had some pretty bad 
moments to pass through. Retribution visited her 
pillow nightly. 

Never in her life had she been lacking in courage, 


THERE IS A TIDE 


209 


moral or physical. But now came signs of a yellow 
streak. She dare not tell Lady Violet what she had 
done. With all her genuine kindness, her gay insou¬ 
ciance, Marne was yet sure that she was not a kind of 
girl who could be trifled with. And look at the matter 
in what light one would, this trick was not quite on 
the level. 

“Serve me right if I’m fired/’ was Marne’s constant 
thought. “I ought to have put myself in solid before 
I tried these fancy strokes. And it isn’t Class, any¬ 
way.” 

However, there it was. Even if a greedy little puss 
in her haste to get at the cream had upset the jug alto¬ 
gether, it was no use miaouing. All the same it took 
some of the warmth out of the sunshine of the Green 
Park; the band of the Pinks did not seem to play rag¬ 
time quite so rhythmically; the excitements of the new 
orientation were less stimulating than they should have 
been; the hope of an invitation to the Royal garden 
party less exhilarating; the world hardly so full of 
colour and romance as the circumstances warranted. 

Had it not been for this large fly in the ointment, 
the new life would have been a thing of joy. The 
times were stirring. Luncheons, matinees, dinners, 
dances, parties crowded one another. Lady Violet, 
indeed, had influence. On each occasion, it is true, 
Marne had more or less to run the gauntlet, but she 
had the spirit of a fighter and she bore herself right 
gallantly. 

Each week she got prettier; each week her confi- 


210 


THERE IS A TIDE 


dence grew. Like all the rest of her countrywomen, 
of whatever grade they belonged, she had a very keen 
social sense. In a time surprisingly short, as viewed 
by the more conservative and less daring Briton, she 
began to get the'hang of things. With just a little 
help, she soon learned what could be worn and what 
could not, what could be said and what could not, 
what could be done and what could not. 

It was a pity that she had already done one of the 
things she ought not to have done. Otherwise every¬ 
thing in the garden would have been just lovely. 

Even as it was the garden was real nice. She prom¬ 
ised to become a favourite at some of the smart houses 
within a stone’s throw of her present abode. At the 
Orient Dance Club, in particular, she was un succes 
fou. Her style of moving was admired, her sayings 
were quoted; her personality, which seemed to develop 
and make more impact each time she appeared, began 
to wax in the public eye. 

She was no longer the small-town rustic. Nor was 
she the struggling New York journalist who had to 
gaze wistfully at both sides of a dollar. The role of 
Miss Du Ranee of Chicago suited her infinitely better. 
Even Miss Childwick, by nature a trifle supercilious, 
poor dear, had to defer to her in certain ways. Miss 
Du Ranee was so much quicker in the uptake, so much 
more forceful, altogether so much cleverer. A 
slightly strained look began to appear in the eyes of 
Miss Three Ply Flannelette whenever her name was 
mentioned. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


2 II 


All the same, as Mame foresaw, the pace was a bit 
too hot to last. Something was due to happen. She 
was rather a fatalist by nature; and having gone out 
of her way to find trouble, she fully expected to fetch 
up pretty soon against a round nugget. 

Why had she not let well alone! The truth was 
bound, sooner or later, to come out. Every time 
Davis, who had the look of a baby-eating ogress, came 
into the room with letters on a silver tray, Mame had 
a presentiment that some old Court fool of an am¬ 
bassador had written to complain. And when that hap¬ 
pened, as conscience said it sure must, Lady Violet 
being the kind of girl she was, there would be ructions. 

To make things worse, although nearly four weeks 
had flown since “Clio’s” specimen copy had been 
urgently posted to New York, no word had yet been 
received on the subject. What did Elmer P. think 
of that ballon d'essai? as Lady Violet called it. What 
a fool Miss Slick Puss would look if, even with a bit 
of illicit spice stuck in the middle of her cake, Clio 
was turned down after all! 


XXVII 


“TyVMN!” said Lady Violet. 

The tone of annoyance caused Mame to 
glance up from her typewriter, rather apprehensively, 
towards her friend. Conscience makes cowards of us 
all. Lady Violet was frowning over something in 
the morning paper. And the long-expected blow was 
overdue. 

“The cat’s out of the bag. How disgusting.” 

Mame did not feel like innocence, but according to 
one of the wise guys of the office calendar, speech is 
given one to conceal one’s thoughts. 

What cat? Out of what bag? What was disgust¬ 
ing? 

Monsieur Talleyrand, the name of the guy in ques¬ 
tion, would not have disowned his pupil. Than 
Marne’s lisping tones, nothing could have been simpler 
or more concealing. 

“You remember that Royal engagement?” 

“What Royal engagement?” 

“The one we had so much difficulty in deciding 
whether it would be cricket to divulge to New York?” 

Ye-es, Mame seemed rather vaguely to remember. 

“Well, the Times says it has the approval and the 
sanction of their Majesties.” 

212 


THERE IS A TIDE 


213 


“Can’t think what the boy sees in her, I’m sure.” 
Mame spoke cautiously. “If that really was the girl 
we saw the other night. Not what I call a looker, 
anyway.” 

“No accounting for taste,” said Lady Violet philo¬ 
sophically; and then less philosophically, “but what 
really annoys me—” 

Mame fetched a deep breath. “Shouldn’t let any¬ 
thing annoy you, honey, if I were you. ’Tisn’t worth 
getting worried over anything, not this time on earth.” 

“Well, I am annoyed. And it’s simply no use pre¬ 
tending. This new firm of ours, Mame et Celimene, 
called Clio for short, has just missed the biggest scoop 
of its young life.” 

“I don’t get you.” Marne’s frown was portentous. 
She was doing her best, all the same, in a quiet fash¬ 
ion, to adjust her agile mind to the rather unexpected 
turn the conversation was taking. 

“Don’t you see, my child, if we hadn’t been so 
frightfully conscientious, we should have been a clear 
fortnight ahead of everybody. Think what a reputa¬ 
tion we should have made in New York on the strength 
of it. If only we had kept that rumour in, and 
damned the consequences of there being nothing in it, 
now that it is officially confirmed we should be on 
velvet with every editor from New York City to 
Tombstone, Texas.” 

“Whose fault was that, honey?” Marne’s voice was 
very soft and beguiling. 

“Not yours, my dear.” Lady Violet was ruefully 


214 


THERE IS A TIDE 


candid. “And never again will I be so high prin¬ 
cipled. When I am it will be time to quit interna¬ 
tional journalism.” 

“Yes, that’s where you got off.” 

When Marne had time to think over the situation 
at her leisure, one factor in it appeared to be sticking 
out a mile. The case was altered; at least in some 
degree. No trouble need be looked for now, at all 
events from high places; and as Lady Violet was 
wearing sackcloth already for her own excess of 
scruple, it was quite likely that, even when the full 
truth came out, Marne would have nothing to fear. 
Indeed, the whole business had now begun to look 
much healthier. If the packet to New York had not 
miscarried, certain developments of a very pleasing 
kind were bound to ensue. And if she played her 
cards adroitly with Lady Violet, her lapse might hope 
to be forgiven. 

Still, at this stage, it just didn’t do to be too sure. 


XXVIII 


1%/TAME’S hope of developments began to mate- 
^ rialise about noon the next day. At that hour 
Davis appeared with the silver tray whereon was a 
cablegram addressed “Durrance.” 

Cool on the surface, but with trembling fingers and 
beating heart, Marne tore open the envelope and read: 


Make no contracts with anybody until you know what 
I can do. Writing this mail. 


Dobree. 


Marne smiled sweetly upon Davis. “No answer.” 
Then still very calm on the surface she pressed the 
cable into the hand of Lady Violet. 

Her partner and friend put down the novel she was 
studying for review purposes, and read the communica¬ 
tion from New York through twice. 

“I hope your friend Elmer P. Dobree isn’t pulling 
our legs,” she said perplexedly. 

“Shows how little you know that baby.” Marne 
tried her best to dissemble a rising excitement. “Elmer 
P. takes life that serious he might be Abraham Lincoln 
at the age of twenty-nine.” 

215 


216 THERE IS A TIDE 

“One wishes he would express himself less cryp¬ 
tically.” 

“You’ll be wise in time, honey,” drawled Marne 
slowly. Wild horses were inclined to tear her, but 
she had a will. 

And a will was wanted, sure, to wait six long and 
weary days for the promised letter of Elmer P. 

The six days of waiting were not so long and weary 
as they might have been. To begin with, they were 
full of the joys of anticipation. The anticipation, 
moreover, took more forms than one. As if to show 
how little Miss Du Ranee and her sponsor had to fear 
in the way of displeasure in high places, there came 
by post, within an hour of the cable from New York, 
a real gilt-edged command to the second Royal garden 
party to be held at Buckingham Palace on the fifth 
of July. 

The “command” tried the democratic spirit of Miss 
Du Ranee severely. Even in the most vaulting mo¬ 
ments of her optimism she had not seen herself moving 
in Royal circles quite so soon as all that. She was 
nearly betrayed into a whoop of elation. Cuckoo, yes, 
but somehow it expressed her oddly democratic feel¬ 
ing. However, she was able to pull herself up just 
in time. What were kings and queens, anyway? Still 
she could not help giving her amused friend a tenta¬ 
tive hug. 

“Please don’t put the bear-cat act over on me,” ex- 


THERE IS A TIDE 


217 

postulated Lady Violet, who had devoted a good deal of 
the last four weeks to a study of Marne’s idiom. 

“It’s a long way to the fifth of July, any old how,” 
said Mame with stern self-control. “And I’ll bet our 
noo ambassaderess don’t invite me to the carol singing 
and the fireworks on the Fourth at the Embassy. Even 
if good Queen Mary ain’t scared of me, she'll be, I 
guess.” 

“It ought to be easy to wangle a card for an Amer¬ 
ican citizeness. How much will you bet?” 

“I don’t approve betting.” Mame had too much 
respect for her friend’s astonishing powers of “wan¬ 
gling.” “But if you can get me an invite for the 
Fourth among all the doughnuts and the high-fliers and 
the hundred-per-cents I’ll be that set up I’ll not know 
where to hide my simple face.” 

Lady Violet promised modestly to see if anything 
could be done in the matter. 

One way and another Mame contrived to get 
through those intervening days pretty well; yet it 
seemed that the eagerly awaited letter from New York 
would never arrive. Her imagination could not help 
playing around it. The cable had excited great 
hopes. 

In such a world as the present, however, things sel¬ 
dom pan out as they should. Mame had visions of a 
contract that would astonish Fleet Street; but Elmer’s 
offer, when it came, was considerably less than she ex¬ 
pected. But in Lady Violet’s opinion it was distinctly 
good. 


218 


THERE IS A TIDE 


However, Lady Violet did not know the precise cir¬ 
cumstances in which the offer had been made. She was 
still in the dark as to the brilliant coup Marne had 
illicitly brought off. Therefore Marne had no hesita¬ 
tion in turning it down. 

'‘No, honey, we are out for something bigger. I 
think I’ll cable Elmer our rock-bottom terms.” 

“Pray what do you consider they ought to be?” 

“We must have a two-year contract to cable six 
columns every Friday at six hundred dollars a 
week.” 

Lady Violet was frankly astonished. “Surely, we 
can’t hope to get that?” 

“Oh, we’ll get it, or I should worry.” Marne 
sounded wonderfully cheerful. “I’ll go right along 
now and send that cable.” 

“But suppose we kill the nice goose that is going 
to lay the golden eggs?” 

Marne was prepared to risk that. “We are worth 
every dime of the money. And they know it just as 
well as we do.” 

Her friend did a sum in her head. “Do you realise 
that you are demanding thirty thousand dollars a 
year?” 

“So much as all that,” laughed Marne. But she 
was not to be dissuaded. “Audacity, audacity, always 
audacity,” had been among the mottoes of the office 
calendar. Besides, had they not exclusive news to 
offer and had not New York just had dramatic evi¬ 
dence of its value? 


THERE IS A TIDE 


219 


That, of course, was the crux of the whole matter. 
And it was a point upon which Lady Violet was very 
much in the dark. In Marne’s judgment the time had 
not yet come to enlighten her. She would have to 
know presently, but this was not the moment for a 
certain rather awkward disclosure. 


XXIX 


/^ELIMENE prophesied disaster when the enter- 
prising partner showed her the cable she pro¬ 
posed to send. 

“Leave this to me, honey.” Mame sounded ab¬ 
surdly full of confidence. “I know New York better 
than you. If New York wants a thing it wants it. 
And if it thinks a thing worth while it don’t mind 
what it pays.” 

“But are we so worth while as all that?” 

Mame appeared to have not the least doubt on the 
point. She clapped on her hat, sallied forth and sent 
the cable. 

In four and twenty hours, less forty-five minutes, 
came the answer. Four hundred dollars a week were 
offered with a contract for one year. 

Mame was triumphant. “What did I tell you, 
honey? They sure want us bad.” 

Lady Violet marvelled. “Let us make haste and ac¬ 
cept it, before they change their minds,” was her ad¬ 
vice. 

But Mame did not agree. “Those boobs are going 
up. They know we are the goods, else they wouldn’t 
have been so free with their cables at the onset.” 

“But—!” persisted Lady Violet. 

220 


THERE IS A TIDE 


221 


Mame took paper and pen. She spent a tense five 
minutes on a piece of careful if rather syncopated 
prose. 

Original terms rock bottom. Sorrow. Du Rance. 

Lady Violet was constrained to laugh rather wryly 
over the fruit of her labours. “Ours, I fancy, will 
be the sorrow.” 

The undefeated little go-getter laughed, too, but for 
a different reason. Once more she rose and crammed 
on her hat. Again she sallied forth to the convenient 
post office round the corner in Dover Street, while her 
friend was left wondering how she dared! 

A further twenty-four hours went by. Plus twenty- 
five minutes on this occasion, to be exact. And then 
appeared the stern Davis with cablegram number three. 

A Napoleon-at-Austerlitz look came upon Mame. 
“Keep the messenger,” she instructed Davis before 
opening the envelope. Full of will as she was, there 
could be no denying that her hand trembled and that 
her face was pale. Suddenly she gave a whoop of 
triumph. “There, honey, what did I tell you?” She 
tossed the cablegram to Celimene. “Seems to me that 
old office calendar is right every time.” 

Lady Violet read amazedly: 

Terms accepted. Cable confirmation. Dobree. 

Napoleon-at-Austerlitz poised a majestic pencil and 
then dashed grandly: 


222 


THERE IS A TIDE 


Mail two years contract instanter. Du Rance. 

The pregnant words were duly submitted to 
Celimene. 

“Now then, honey, what about it?” 

Lady Violet acknowledged her defeat with a cheer¬ 
ful grace. These Americans were wonderful! 

Marne produced a pound note and gave it to Davis 
along with the cable. “For the messenger,” she said. 
But just as the emissary was passing out of the door 
she changed her mind. “Come to think of it, I’ll send 
that cable myself.” 

The paper was handed back; and the redoubtable 
Davis went to dismiss the messenger, while yet again 
Miss Du Rance proceeded to clap on her hat. She 
had called to mind that an Anonymous highbrow had 
laid it down in the office calendar that if you want a 
thing done well you must do it yourself. 

The office calendar had a sure trick of being in¬ 
fallible. Hence the quick but firm steps of Marne 
along Half Moon Street, towards%;at so conveniently 
near-at-hand post office. 


XXX 


Tl/TAME had hardly committed half a dozen preg- 

-*■ nant words to the efficient care of the ladylike 
girl at the post office, when suddenly she came to an im¬ 
portant decision. Let her regularise the situation 
then and now. She would go straight home and clear 
up Lady Violet’s perplexities. Success had amply 
crowned her audacity, but there was still the uncomfort¬ 
able feeling that she had played not quite fair. An 
explanation was overdue. Now was the time to 
make it. 

The job was not easy to tackle. If it were done 
at all it must be done quickly. And so, immediately 
she got back from her errand, she plunged right in. 
Briefly and lightly as possible she made the confes¬ 
sion. 

“Do I understand you re-opened the packet and put 
in what we had decided to leave out?” Lady Violet’s 
eyes grew wide and round. The change of tone was 
perceptible. 

“I sure did. And there’s no call to be sorry.” 

“Perhaps not, but there might have been.” Lady 
Violet’s slow voice deepened rather ominously while 
it made that comment. 

“We took our chance and here we are.” Marne’s 


223 


224 


THERE IS A TIDE 


air of triumph was a shade uneasy; it sounded a trifle 
forced. “Now we’re in solid with New York. We’ve 
pulled the big stuff, you can tell the world.” 

Lady Violet could not resist a laugh. But at the 
back of everything she was not laughing at all. She 
was rather sore. And she was rather angry. No use 
disguising it, there the feeling was. They had brought 
off a scoop of which they had every right to be proud. 
But somehow the whole thing was against her code. 
One could not help liking and admiring this girl, but 
the line would have to be drawn somewhere! 

She looked at her ingenious partner with narrowing 
eyes. The note in her voice disconcerted Marne con¬ 
siderably, when she said, “I don’t quite think I can be 
in this.” 

Marne had a pang, sharp and odd. She did not 
like the sound of that voice. Much less did she like 
the sound of the words. Lady Violet was absolutely 
indispensable to her now. Without her loyal help the 
contract could never be put through. And if she 
should cut loose and decide to turn her out of doors, as 
a girl with that look on her face conceivably might, 
the entire house of cards would collapse. Miss Du 
Ranee was not yet established in anything. She would 
lose all she had gained. Society, at one word from 
Lady Violet, would fire her. Even her syndicate work 
would be lost. She would be back where she began. 

Alarmed by that tone and that look Marne felt the 
cold touch of panic. She had made a hideous blun¬ 
der. By a foolish miscalculation of human nature it 


THERE IS A TIDE 


225 


seemed as if she had just spoiled everything. In the 
flush of success she had been over-confident. She 
ought to have remembered that high-grade folks dif¬ 
fered in certain ways from the common run. Yes, 
she had been a little fool. 


XXXI 



k HEY went to the club, round the corner, for 


luncheon. But as they walked towards it 
together, for the first time since they had come to 
know one another they found themselves at a loss for 
words. For Marne it was a new experience and a de¬ 
cidedly bitter one. Lady Violet was now coldly polite. 
The touch of ice was an omen. Her companion did 
not like this new aspect at all. 

Everything had changed since Marne had tripped 
along to the post office, half an hour ago. The sky 
was different or what London is pleased to call the 
sky; the sound of traffic; the look of the passers-by; 
the shadows cast by the houses and by the trees across 
the road, all were different. A severe attack of cold 
feet had overtaken Miss Du Ranee. 

She felt like throwing herself under a bus. Her 
vein of fatalism mockingly assured her that such luck 
as she had had could not possibly last. There was 
bound to be a break. The dream was too good to be 
true. Yet it was maddening to feel that she had held 
every card in the game less than half an hour ago and 
that by an act of sheer folly she had simply cast them 
to the winds. 

This was a bad moment. Back swung the pen- 


THERE IS A TIDE 


227 


dulum. Her mood reacted from triumph to despair. 
After crabbing such luck as no girl of her sort ever 
had, she might find herself curled up on a County 
Council bench among the poor stiffs who slept nightly 
on the Thames Embankment. Instead of having the 
ball at her feet she had now a vision of ending up in 
the river. 

In the course of a miserable luncheon these horrid 
thoughts tormented her. She couldn’t go back to pov¬ 
erty and inferior people. But all that she had, de¬ 
pended on the coldly polite girl opposite. And if, as 
now seemed almost certain, she was forced to cancel 
the contract she had just made with New York, Elmer 
Dobree would be furious. He, too, would never for¬ 
give her for being made to look a fool. Big interests 
stood behind him in this scheme, and if by her default 
he failed to put it through, his own position would be 
jeopardised. He might even lose his new job. 

“Excuse me, honey.” Marne glanced at her friend 
across the private table. “I don’t want food just now. 
I think I’ll get out into the air.” 

“Aren’t you well?” The detached tone was like a 
knife to Marne. 

“No,” she gasped. “I’m feeling pretty low. I— 
I—” Not trusting herself to say more she got up 
abruptly and quitted the dining room. 


XXXII 


T?OODLESS and miserable Mame left the precincts 
of the Ladies Imperium and crossed over to the 
Green Park. The sun had a real touch of warmth 
in it. Flowers, bird music, the gentle breath of spring 
were all around. But Mame subsided in the first seat 
she came to beyond the railings and had desperately 
to fight a threat of tears. 

What a mess she had made of things! In one brief 
hour she had been cast down from the heights. She 
felt that all was lost. Yes, all, including honour. 
There was no excuse for what she had done. She 
had been tempted and she had fallen. 

For about twenty minutes she sat there in despair. 
And then a diversion came. It was the sort of diver¬ 
sion that in this dark hour she would have given much 
to avoid. But it seemed there was no escape. It had 
to be met. 

Right in the midst of her painful reflections her 
eye was caught by a tall, free-striding, oncoming fig¬ 
ure. Moreover, the recognition was mutual and it 
was simultaneous. Bill had seen her in the very mo¬ 
ment that she had seen him. He had a bulldog on 
a lead, a large, ugly, yet most amiable beast. Both 
Bill and his dog seemed on very good terms with life. 

228 


THERE IS A TIDE 


22 9 


Bill in particular looked pleased with his luck in find¬ 
ing little Miss Chicago sitting alone on a seat in the 
Green Park, at one thirty-five in the afternoon. 

He as good as said so. 

Mame was not much given to tears. Her life had 
always been too hard for luxuries of that kind. But 
seldom had she been nearer shedding them. Bill, how¬ 
ever, must not guess that anything was wrong. Yet, 
for all her powers of dissimulation, which were not 
inconsiderable, he was not wholly deceived. 

“You want some lunch,” he said in the casual man¬ 
ner that belonged to his sister and yet with a half hu¬ 
morous directness peculiarly his own. Mame liked 
that directness exceedingly. And never more than now. 
There was something very masculine about it, some¬ 
thing genuine, something protective. It was not the 
least of the penalties she had incurred that she would 
have to forego the society of Bill. And of the likes 
of Bill. 

“Well, what about it?” he broke in upon the distinct 
pause that had followed his statement. “Let’s nip 
across to the Berkeley and have a bite. Or the Ritz 
—if you prefer it?” 

Mame did not feel like the Berkeley, nor yet like 
the Ritz. 

“I’m not hungry,” she said with a lack of nuance 
for which she despised herself. 

“Well, I am. About this hour I often get like 
that. Come and have a small lobster. It’ll do you 
good, I’m sure.” 


230 


THERE IS A TIDE 


The invitation was declined. Conversationally he 
could not knock any sparks out of the pretty and clever 
little American, whom he liked as much as any girl 
he had come across lately. 

Bill was concerned. She looked as if she would be 
all the better for a good cry. Something had hap¬ 
pened, something pretty serious, but there was no 
means of knowing what. And such a pretty little 
puss! There was a touching look about her. Bill 
was a chivalrous young man; and at that moment he 
felt he could ask nothing better than to stand between 
this attractive little girl and the rubs of a hard world. 

Notwithstanding an honest need of luncheon Bill 
could not deny any solace it might be his to afford. 
He took a seat by the side of Miss Du Ranee and 
prattled charmingly on. 

“You’re goin’, of course, to that dance on the second 
at Clanborough House ?” 

Miss Du Ranee said rather miserably that she didn’t 
know. 

“Don’t know.” Consternation was in the tone. “I 
understood from Vi that you were going with her.” 

Marne shivered slightly in her thin spring suit. But 
the winds of Britain cannot be trusted right up till the 
end of June. 

“It’ll be the best rag of the season. All the folks 
will be there. You must come—you simply must. 
Best floor in London. Capital supper. Rippin’ band. 
Uncle J. and Aunt E. always do things top hole. Jolly 
sitting-out place in the small library downstairs. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


231 

Everybody don’t know it, though, which makes it so 
much the jollier.” 

But Miss Du Ranee did not respond. There was 
something seriously wrong with the girl. 

“I was hopin’ you’d dance two or three times with 
me. I know I’m a hod-carrier, but you’ll own that 
I’ve improved quite a bit since you took me in hand.” 

Miss Du Ranee did own that. But there was cer¬ 
tainly room for improvement in Bill’s form on the 
parquet, even if she was too kind to say so. Besides, 
she really liked the boy. There was that about him 
no girl could help liking. He was so open, so genuine, 
so manly. 

“If you’re not there it’ll be most disappointing.” 

“There’ll be Miss Childwick to console you,” jumped 
to the tip of Marne’s tongue. Happily she was able 
to keep it from slipping off. 

The abrupt and sharp thought of Miss Three Ply 
Flannelette of the glorious yet supercilious eyes some¬ 
how gave Marne a jolt. And that was exactly what 
she needed. It lent her a punch. The memory of 
Miss Three Ply Flannelette pulled her together as noth¬ 
ing else could have done. 

Even if she had just had a heavy blow, she must 
not think of giving in. All was not lost yet, whatever 
line Lady Violet might adopt towards her. There was 
something about Bill’s manner that had set her agile 
and enterprising mind to work. 

A week or so ago Lady Violet had been good enough 
to throw out a sort of gentle hint that little cats were 


232 


THERE IS A TIDE 


not allowed to look at a certain Canary. There were 
other nice birds in the aviary. In fact at this season 
of the year the place was swarming with ’em good 
and plenty. The little Puss in question could take her 
pick, always provided she was clever enough to catch 
one. But let her please remember that a certain Canary 
was not on the menu. 

Yes, that was all very well; but circumstances have 
a knack of altering cases. The heart of Puss began 
to harden at the thought. Such a simple, harmless, 
pretty bird! And actually perching, mark you, on one 
of her velvet forepaws. 

The clocks of the neighbourhood chimed two. 

“How the time does fly,” Bill observed. 

“You don’t say,” remarked the little Puss. 

The old note, the old quaint note at which the young 
marquis invariably chuckled. Such an Original, this 
girl. Everybody was beginning to say so—quite apart 
from her money! And Poppa’s hogs had kept poor 
old Europe for years. 

Bill reluctantly rose. “Yes, two o’clock, by gad!” 
He really must see about a small lobster. At three he 
had to meet a girl at Hurlingham and watch the polo. 
“The Yanks, I fear, have got us beat to a frazzle.” 

“Shouldn’t wonder at all.” The little Puss began 
circumspectly to lick her sly lips. And then with 
seeming carelessness: “Do I know the lady?” 

“A Miss Childwick. You’ve barged into her once 
or twice at the Dance Club.” 

“You mean she has barged into me.” 


THERE IS A TIDE 


233 


“That’s exactly what I do mean,” said Bill with 
candour. “Nice girl, but she can’t begin to move in the 
way that you do. You might be a professional.” 

“Thank you,” said Miss Du Ranee coldly. It was 
a two-edged compliment. 

“What I mean to say is Gwendolen—” 

“Her name’s Gwendolen!” 

“And I are not exactly thistledown when we float 
around, while you are just as light as a feather. And 
if you don’t show up on the second, it’ll knock the 
bottom out of the joiliest dance of the year.” 

“You get after that lobster or you’ll be late for the 
good old walloping America’s going to give you.” 

“Sure you won’t come and share a humble crust at 
the Berkeley?” 

Miss Chicago was quite sure. 

“Well, so long. But if you don’t show up on the 
second it’ll be real mean.” 

With every appearance of reluctance Bill and his dog 
moved slowly away in a northwesterly direction. 

The eyes of Miss Du Ranee followed them wist¬ 
fully until they passed from view. Then she got up 
and took the opposite path, which led among other 
places to the Army and Navy Stores. Already a new 
fire had been kindled in her strong young heart. 


XXXIII 


I T was rather late in the afternoon when Mame re¬ 
turned to Half Moon Street. She had powlered 
up and down a bit, had had a cup of tea at the Stores, 
and had given some time to examining various novel¬ 
ties with an eye to Celimene’s weekly letter. But she 
was still feeling decidedly miserable. 

Lady Violet was out. She generally was at this 
hour of the day. Mame took off her hat and then sat 
doggedly down at the typewriter. There was plenty 
of work to be done; and she decided to go on doing it 
just as if nothing had happened. 

It was not easy, however, to fix her mind on her 
job. Something had told her that she was going to 
be “fired”; and probably quite soon. She was really 
more occupied with what could be saved from the 
wreck than with the task in hand. But however she 
looked at the matter, there was no escaping the fact 
that it was in Lady Violet’s power to ruin her socially. 
Unless! 

It was also in Lady Violet’s power to ruin her pro¬ 
fessionally, unless Elmer P. was willing to forgive her 
for making him look a fool. In any case she would 
have earned the reputation of being a regular fly-up- 
the-creek; and she knew enough of her calling by this 
234 


THERE IS A TIDE 


235 

time to be aware that such a name was about the worst 
possible for a newspaper girl. 

While Marne was wrestling with these unhappy 
thoughts Lady Violet came into the room. She hardly 
ventured to look at the face of her friend. Somehow 
she was afraid to read her doom, which in her present 
mood was going to be more than she could bear. 

Lady Violet gazed upon the rather woe-begone little 
figure seated before a piece of mechanism which she 
herself profoundly disliked. “Hard at it!” The tone 
was cheery, but it was non-committal. It was impos¬ 
sible for Marne to tell what her feelings were or what 
the decision was to which she had come. 

Marne had very little hope. But, although she was 
careful not to betray it, she had a certain amount of 
defiance. As she bent over the machine she felt the 
eyes of Lady Violet upon her. After all, why should 
this girl sit in judgment? So far she had only had 
to play at life. She had never had to wonder where 
the next crust was coming from; she had never had to 
drudge at things she hated; she had never really known 
what it was to be tempted. Boredom, squalor, misery, 
what did this high-flyer know of these? 

Marne was feeling sore. And there was a kind of 
savage pride in her, which forbade the showing of 
her heart. She would ask no concession. How could 
she, without lowering herself in her own eyes? If 
the sentence was ruin she would accept it. She must 
find the strength to pack her traps and walk out of that 
alluring house just as if nothing had happened. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


236 

All the same these thoughts hurt so much that her 
eyes began to fill with tears. They were the first which 
had gathered there since the weary days of childhood 
that now seemed very far away. Suddenly quite a 
large one dripped on to the machine. Marne fiercely 
brushed it off with her handkerchief. But it was too 
late. The mischief was done. 

There was a pause. It was rather strained and 
rather odd. And then she woke to the fact that Lady 
Violet was speaking. Moreover, she was speaking in 
the gay and whimsical voice that Marne had grown to 
love. 

“Little Puss, Eve been thinking about things. I’m 
more to blame than you. One had no right to tempt 
you like that.” 

This aspect of the case had not occurred to Marne. 
It was a generous interpretation of the matter; it was, 
also, a diplomatic one which skilfully opened a short 
way out. 

“No, you just hadn’t,” said Marne. “But don’t think 
I excuse myself. I expect,” she added wistfully, 
“you’ll never be able to trust me again.” 

That was precisely the thought which was now 
troubling Lady Violet. But she had not the heart to 
be really hard. There was something brave and big 
about the child; a gameness, a never-say-die-ness which 
appealed to one’s sporting instincts. She was im¬ 
mensely worth helping. But to go into partnership 
with her?—that was a thorny question. One had to 
be able to trust blindly in such a case. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


?37 

“No, I’ll say not.” Mame read her thoughts. “And 
after this I have a kind of hunch that I can’t trust 
myself.” 

Lady Violet looked shrewdly at Mame. She recog¬ 
nised, at any rate, her own weakness, and to that ex¬ 
tent there was hope for her. Besides, the particular 
circumstances need not arise a second time. The next 
“bonanza” that came along, if she had the least doubt 
about giving it publicity, let her have the good sense 
to keep to herself. It was hardly fair to put tempta¬ 
tion in the way of one whose genius for news made her 
so susceptible. 

Reflection convinced Lady Violet that this was a case 
for broad views. A woman who really knows the 
world does not ask too much of human nature. To 
be forewarned is to be forearmed. And the childish 
air of penitence was so appealing that Lady Violet 
was tempted to put the best face she could on the 
matter. 

Mame, after all, was not fired. Good sense and 
good will on one side, repentance on the other, did much 
to heal the breach. The friendship continued; they 
were able to work together as of yore. 

In some ways their respect for each other deepened. 
The business pact into which they now entered was 
almost ideal. Marne’s head, from the mundane aspect 
of dollars, was by far the shrewder of the two. Money 
meant so much more to her than it did to Lady Violet. 
She had learned a sharp lesson; also she was “clever 
as she could stick” and a splendid worker. From a 


THERE IS A TIDE 


238 

business point of view she was undoubtedly a treasure. 

Mame, for her part, was quick to perceive that the 
partner pulled her weight in the boat. Celimene was 
strongest wherein she lacked. Taste, style, charm, dis¬ 
cretion were worth-while things in high-grade news¬ 
paper work. Lady Violet had all these. And still 
better, she had access to sources of information which 
the ordinary journalist could seldom tap. She was 
asked everywhere, known everywhere, not in her ca¬ 
pacity of Celimene of the London Courier or Clio of 
the New York Monitor, but as the daughter of her 
late father, a distinguished man, of her much-respected 
mother and by virtue of many highly placed connections. 
Apart from her skill with a pen, she was a most accom¬ 
plished diner-out; one of the few real conversational¬ 
ists of either sex left in London. Witty, informed, 
she repeated her father’s popularity twenty years be¬ 
fore. Powerful friends who remembered and admired 
him were glad to open their doors and their hearts to 
her. 

There was every reason why the new firm should 
prosper. And it did. Even if New York was paying 
“big money” on the strength of the “scoop” in the 
matter of the Royal engagement, there was reason to 
think it would not have to regret its enterprise. 

“We’ve now to see that we deliver the goods,” said 
Mame. “Our London Letter’s got to be the best on 
the market.” 

Mame went all out. Little Miss Chicago was to be 
seen everywhere. She, too, was careful not to asso- 


THERE IS A TIDE 


239 


ciate herself with the London Courier or the New 
York Monitor. By now she was established more or 
less as “the richest thing that ever happened.” The 
cunning phrase had come to her by a side wind. Even 
if secretly it wounded her pride, she had a shrewd per¬ 
ception of its value. 

That two-edged phrase was her open sesame, as 
Family was the open sesame of Lady Violet. The 
world in which she was now beginning to move with 
some freedom was willing to forgive much for the 
sake of Pop. Yet absolutely nothing was known at the 
Embassy about the mysterious Mr. Du Ranee. Cer¬ 
tain countrywomen of “little Miss Chicago” were in¬ 
defatigable in their inquiries. But in the end all boiled 
down to the plain fact that Du Ranee pere was a 
homely farmer of hogs who, no doubt, had come into 
his kingdom rather late in life. 

Meanwhile his daughter got about. Even the dance 
at Clanborough House, on the evening of the second 
of June, was graced by her presence. Dear Emily, 
who, as all the world knew, was apt to fuss over the 
invitations to share her well-considered hospitality, 
actually sent a card to the naive little thing when peo¬ 
ple like the So-and-So’s, who had been established 
three years in Park Lane, had to go wanting. 

One thing must be said for Miss Thingamy. She 
really was an excellent dancer. Anyhow, dear Violet’s 
brother, that nice young man in the Pinks, seemed 
to take as many turns with her as with that charming 
girl Gwendolen Childwick. She, too, was a partie. 


240 


THERE IS A TIDE 


But of course, rather “heavy cake.” So that towards 
the end of a most enjoyable evening—dear Emily’s 
evenings were always so enjoyable—rumours began to 
arise of jealous riding. From the purely dancing point 
of view Miss What-was-her-name could put poor 
Gwendolen to bed any old time—could fairly tuck her 
up, as it were, in her little cot. Really no comparison 
between the two. Trade, of course, both. But who 
minds trade these days? Besides, Celebrated Three 
Ply Flannelette is so much more distinguished than 
Hogs. 

That fearful accent, my dear. Quite the wrong kind 
of American. What a pity that since the War there 
has been such a lowering of European standards. 
Don’t you remember, my dear, when you and I first 
came over, what enormous trouble our parents took 
that we should do and say nothing to disgrace them? 
And even then it wasn’t altogether easy, was it ? Sad, 
my dear, to see how things have changed. But as I 
took the opportunity of saying privately to dear Emily, 
if that type of American does really get off with an 
old marquisate there is bound to be a slump in the 
more respectable English titles. 


XXXIV 


“TITTLE Puss, of course you will not touch the 
Canary. But there are other birds on the 
bough.” 

Lady Violet did not use these exact words, but that 
was Marne’s astute interpretation of the light in her 
eye and the smile on her face. What she did say was: 
“Your dancing last night with my brother was ad¬ 
mired. People were asking who you were.” But 
more, far more, was implied by the point and the hu¬ 
mour with which she made those statements. 

It was the morning after the Clanborough House 
ball. Marne, at ease in an armchair after a late break¬ 
fast, had a pleasant feeling of success. She had passed 
a fairly stiff examination with flying colours. Her 
sponsor was proud of her. She had looked well, car¬ 
ried herself well, danced beautifully. Even Aunt 
Emily, who was so critical, had spoken of her “as ah 
unaffected little thing.” 

“It is just on the cards that she may invite you to 
Scotland for a fortnight at the end of August. There’s 
great fun at Dunkeldie every year. And any amount 
of competition to get there. But in the meantime, if 
one may offer a hint, you’ll see that nobody spikes your 
241 


242 THERE IS A TIDE 

guns. Some of your American friends are out on the 
warpath.” 

“No friends of mine. Spiteful cats, mainly, and I 
don’t seem to mind letting some of them know it.” 

“Well, I don’t think I would if I were you. They 
can do you more harm than you can do them.” 

Marne saw the truth of that. “But they don’t love 
me, these birds. And I’d just like to shoot them all 
on sight.” 

Lady Violet laughed at the fierceness. But she well 
understood her feelings. Certain distinguished mem¬ 
bers of the American colony were giving trouble. Du 
Ranee was a name unknown in Chicago. It was un¬ 
known in Washington. It was unknown in New 
York. 

“Make hay while the sun shines, my dear.” That 
was the sum of Lady Violet’s wisdom. It was a great 
stroke of luck being in with Aunt Emily. She was 
one of the few people who still really counted. But 
Pressure was being brought to bear. Miss Du Ranee 
had not been presented. Her credentials had not been 
verified. Doubt had even been cast upon the wealth 
of Poppa. 

The woman of the world let fall a hint that several 
partis were about, who in their way were not unat¬ 
tractive. 

“You kinda think I ought to put myself in solid.” 
Marne had a touch of that crude force which some peo¬ 
ple found so engaging and other people didn’t. 

“No saying when the luck may change. One can 


THERE IS A TIDE 


243 


never quite depend on Aunt Emily. She might be got 
at. Our friend Mrs. Creber Newsum is out for blood. 
I don’t know what you’ve done to the lady, but from 
what one hears she’s got quite an edge on her toma¬ 
hawk.” 

“That old squaw!” said the contemptuous Marne. 
“I’m not afraid of her.” 

Lady Violet was inclined to reprove. Her experi¬ 
ence was that it never did to underrate one’s foes. If 
people were not well disposed towards one, it paid as 
a rule to be afraid of them. 

Marne, nevertheless, was not afraid of Mrs. Creber 
Newsum. 

“She carries weight now her husband has got his 
diplomatic leg up. And she’s in with the Childwicks.” 

“Who are the Childwicks, any old way?” asked 
Marne injudiciously. She realised her break the instant 
she had been guilty of it. 

The Childwicks were all right. Lady Violet made 
that statement with a perceptible change of voice. 
“Gwendolen Childwick is as good as engaged to Bill, 
you know. Strictly between ourselves, mother is a bit 
surprised the announcement hasn’t been made already.” 

“A regular mother’s boy, is he?” Marne audaciously 
observed. 

“What mother says goes—with Bill. And he knows 
that she quite approves of Gwendolen.” 

“Don’t he approve of her?” Marne was still more 
audacious. 

Bill’s sister laughed coolly. “Dear Gwendolen is 


244 


THERE IS A TIDE 


very nice and she is an heiress. And Pop and Mommer 
Childwick were well known at Washington long before 
they came over here.” 

“The right kind of American, I guess.” 

Marne’s naivete met with further reproof. “One 
only speaks, my child, of the wrong kind of American. 
The right kind is left to speak for itself. And the 
moment it speaks for itself it becomes the wrong kind 
—if I make myself clear?” 

“You do and you don’t,” said the candid Marne. 
“But to come down to cases, I’ve got to keep my eyes 
skinned for the Childwick push.” 

“Among others. They are not your friends, exactly. 
I don’t know why. And they have the ear of Aunt 
Emily, who, please don’t forget, as far as the funny 
old English village of Mayfair is concerned, is the 
nearest card you hold at the moment to the ace of 
trumps. You may pick up others later, but my advice 
is to hold on at present with both paws to Aunt Emily.” 

Marne saw the force of that. “Do you think I ought 
to get a new dress for this party next month?” 

“The heliotrope will do quite well. Gwympe has 
made it beautifully.” 

“And only charged half price, as we are giving her 
that write-up. So I can blow myself off to another if 
you think I ought to have one.” 

That was not at all necessary. It would be hard to 
improve on the heliotrope. But one further word of 
caution. Marne must be wise about Gwendolen. As 
far as Clanborough House was concerned she had it 


THERE IS A TIDE 


245 

in her to be dangerous. “So, as I say/’ the mentor con¬ 
cluded, “I hope you’ll be wise about her.” 

“I will,” Mame faithfully promised. 

“And don’t forget there are others.” The face of 
the mentor was full of mystic meaning. 

“I won’t,” promised Mame. 


XXXV 


M AME had received a sort of hint that one or two 
nice plums were in the matrimonial basket. 

For some weeks to come she had every opportunity 
of judging how nice the plums in the basket really were. 
No matter where the ripe fruit clustered, there to be 
seen was la belle Americaine. Not that, strictly speak¬ 
ing, she took rank as “a looker.” Really and truly she 
did not pretend to beauty. But she had a way with her. 
She had the charm of one not afraid to be herself. 
And that as much as anything was what people liked 
about her. She was not afraid to be herself. So many 
of her more sophisticated compatriots were shy of 
giving nature a chance. 

Perhaps they hardly realised that what passes for 
aristocracy in England is essentially barbarous; it 
counts freedom and frankness and don’t-care-a-damness 
as second only to dollars. Marne had her share of the 
first and was reputed to have more than her share of 
the second. Thus, to the annoyance of a coterie among 
her countrywomen, who were blessed with girls of their 
own, she was likely to cut rather more ice than their 
privately tutored-and-governessed, trained-to-the-min- 
ute offspring. She was such an Original, while they 
conformed to a type. Where they were all prunes and 
246 


THERE IS A TIDE 


247 

prisms, little Miss Chicago was forcible and unex¬ 
pected. 

By the time Miss Du Ranee had been seen at the 
Embassy on the evening of the Fourth of July and she 
had been seen again in the grounds of Buckingham 
Palace on the afternoon of the Fifth, the coterie began 
"to get the wind up.” Was it really a fact that dear 
Emily had invited Miss Thingamy to Dunkeldie for 
the last week in August and the first week in Septem¬ 
ber? If so, it was almost a scandal. Polly Childwick 
certainly thought so; likewise Marcella Creber New- 
sum. Moreover, they both agreed that it would be 
doing dear, simple-hearted Emily an act of Christian 
kindness to say so. And the more forcibly it was said 
the more kind and the more Christian the act would be. 

Dunkeldie hung in the balance. If Marne could bring 
off that it would be a coup. Such was Lady Violet’s 
considered opinion and she knew every blade of grass 
on the course. 

Still, the remnant of the prehistoric Four Hundred, 
a sort of praetorian Old Guard, was mustering every 
ounce that it possessed in the way of "influence.” 
Dunkeldie would be a bit too much, when people like 
those really nice Perkinses with a villa on the Lido and 
their eldest boy in the Blues were still out in the cold. 
Dear Emily was so conservative in some ways; and 
yet in others, like ordinary mortals, so apt to be 
taken in. 

It was that wicked Violet who was really to blame. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


248 

She had an atrocious and ill-bred habit of pulling legs. 
One never quite knew how one stood with her. She 
seemed to have a down on certain people who were con¬ 
siderably richer than herself; she was very unconven¬ 
tional; and quite uncomfortably clever. Why she was 
running this Miss Du Ranee nobody knew; but the 
opinion was growing that at the back of the mind of the 
freakish Violet was a desire to make Clanborough 
House look foolish. 

Somebody ought to warn dear Emily. It was a 
Christian duty. Besides, if persons like Miss Du Ranee 
were given the run of the garden what was the use of 
trying to remain exclusive? With the whole world 
topsy-turvy, people in the position of dear Emily could 
not be too careful. 

Lady Violet had shrewdly diagnosed the state of the 
case. The Colony was arming itself, the Pilgrim 
Daughters were going out on the warpath. They could 
not afford to let this dangerous little feline have things 
all her own way. Even her dollars could not condone 
her. And the best and latest information was unable 
to say where and what those dollars were. 

The Puss, it was clear, had nothing to give away. 
Let her bear in mind that she still had to walk deli¬ 
cately. Many vigilant hands were simply itching to cut 
her claws and to trim her fur. The odd thing was she 
did not appear to amuse her compatriots at all; whereas 
the natives of the island seemed to find her great fun. 
It was her dollars, of course. But then those who hail 
from the land where dollars grow are apt to be so much 


THERE IS A TIDE 


249 

less charmed by them than the poor and rather mer¬ 
cenary British. 

Marne continued “to get around.” The main reason, 
no doubt, was that her work made it necessary. But 
soon a certain ambition took root in her. According 
to the office calendar, There is a Tide. While she was 
about it, she would be wise to neglect no opportunity 
of putting herself in solid. Experience had taught her 
already that if you don’t take the chances that offer, 
your luck has a nasty trick of back-firing. Yes, if 
opportunity arose it would be well to be in solid. 

Henley was fun. So was Ascot. So was Hurling- 
ham. So was Lord’s. Perhaps Henley was the best 
fun of all. Somehow, honest Thames water seemed to 
take a bit of starch out of the folks. Then there were 
several jolly dances; and other functions, rather more 
formal, but still in their way pleasant. 

Week by week Marne met the same crowd under 
slightly differing conditions. And even her sponsor 
owned that it was wonderful how she adjusted herself 
to circumstances. Under expert guidance she was now 
developing a sure instinct of her own. It soon began 
to make a real difference to her personality. Happily 
it didn’t take out the “pep.” 

She was astonishingly quick at picking up ideas. 
And she was not content merely to pick them up; she 
had a faculty for putting them to new and entertaining 
uses. Lady Violet, for all her experience of two con¬ 
tinents, had never seen anyone like her. She was a 
unique combination of demureness and daring. The 


250 


THERE IS A TIDE 


things she said and the way she said them were beyond 
the compass of ordinary mortals. If you admired her 
dollars they went; if you didn’t admire her dollars these 
gems of thought rather “got the bird.” 

But dollars are fascinating things. In England a 
mere rumour of them appears to have glamour. Since 
the War they have been getting so scarce, except among 
the wrong people. Miss Du Ranee might be in that 
inclusive category, but then she was so adaptable. Her 
nationality and her youth were immensely in her favour. 
Dear Percy and dear Algernon, of course, would have 
to marry somebody; there did not seem to be enough 
British money to go round; it was a bore, her not having 
been presented, but no doubt she could be on her mar¬ 
riage. And even if she had no friends in America, 
that was more than offset by being “in” with Clan- 
borough House. 

Lady Violet, in the meantime, scented the breeze and 
enjoyed her wicked self hugely. Like her father, that 
charming and distinguished man, she had a rather un¬ 
conventional view of life. Certain pomposities and pre¬ 
tensions gave her an impish desire to prick them. She 
knew that when it came down to bedrock they were 
rooted in mere lucre. In spite of its airs and graces, 
so cleverly used as a screen for the vulgar truth, the 
British aristocracy, what was left of it, was the most 
mercenary institution on the face of the earth. She 
did not blame it in the least. Being a woman of the 
world she did not blame anything for anything just 
now. It was one hell of a scramble with the devil 


THERE IS A TIDE 


251 

hanging on to the hindmost. But if one had a sense 
of humour and kept one’s eyes open, it was wonderful 
what fun was to be got out of the charming piggy- 
wiggies one saw in the dear old stye. 

The Canary was sacred, of course. Dear Mother 
had kept up her end so bravely; and Gwendolen was a 
good and sensible girl, though a little dull. But the 
minor dicky birds, the Percies and the Algernons were 
fair game for an early rising Puss, who had had its 
little tail twisted pretty severely at one time or another. 
As good as gold she was too, but without a sou, except 
what she earned by her own wits. 

Meanwhile, the battle raged. Lady Violet resolved 
that Marne should be invited to Scotland for the deer 
stalking. It would crown her success. Such pluck de¬ 
served recognition. Lady Violet had a strong dash of 
sportsmanship in her. She was all for the underdog; 
and the uncalled-for attitude of certain people had 
rather “got her goat.” Live and let live was an excel¬ 
lent motto; in fact, it so happened that it was the 
motto of the Trehernes. She enjoyed nothing better 
than to salt the tails of the Marcella Creber Newsums 
of the earth and their British prototypes. Marne was 
doing harm to nobody, yet New York-on-Thames was 
determined to down her. 

However, they would see. It was true that Aunt 
Emily seemed to be wavering. Eton v. Harrow was 
through. People were packing up and clearing off to 
Goodwood and then to Cowes for the yachting. Lady 
Violet obtained an invitation for her little friend aboard 


252 


THERE IS A TIDE 


the Excelsior with those comic people the Dunnings. 
Glorious beer. But in Britain these days there was 
great competition even for that. It was one of the key 
industries that had done very well in the War. She 
herself was going to spend five days aboard the Ex¬ 
celsior, if she was able to survive them. No doubt she 
would. New people were so much more amusing than 
the old. But she had rather made it a condition that 
she should be accompanied by her little friend. 

Still, Cowes and the Dunnings were a mere side show. 
Scotland at the end of next month would be the joy 
wheel. And Aunt Emily seemed to be wavering. To 
Celimene’s chagrin, Marne had not been included in the 
invitation she herself had already received. If it went 
phut, it would be one up to the other side. 

A proper score for Mrs. Creber Newsum if Miss 
Du Ranee was left out. Her friend and partner chiv¬ 
alrously felt she must be up and doing. In some ways 
it would suit the firm better for Marne to stay in town 
gathering news while Celimene was sunning herself on 
the moors, but that hardly seemed fair. Besides, their 
job could be carried on anywhere within reach of a 
telegraph office; and in that respect Dunkeldie was very 
well off. 

Honest work and real grit had earned the reward of 
a jolly fortnight. Celimene was fully determined that 
Marne should have it. She was beginning to take a 
personal pride in the success against odds of this clever 
child. Besides, if little Miss Chicago was left out in 
the cold, there would be smiles. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


253 


The thing hung fire so long that it began to look as 
if the day was going against them. Mame herself 
inclined to think so. The Colony was very active; it 
was always trying to call her bluff. All through the 
summer she had managed to keep her chin above water, 
but she could not expect to go on like that forever. 
Soon or late, something was bound to happen. 

There were several reasons why Marne’s heart was 
set on an invitation to Dunkeldie; but one must not 
look for everything in this world. All the same it was 
a defeat. And the moral of it was, no doubt, that at 
last the tide had begun to turn. 


XXXVI 


OWES was very enjoyable. The Excelsior was a 



comfortable yacht. Its hospitality was lavish. 
Dunning pbe was perhaps inclined to set a value on 
himself; the same applied to Dunning mdre; but Sidney 
Dunning, heir to half a million six per cent debentures, 
was well mannered and attentive. On the slightest 
provocation he showed a decided tendency to come 


along. 


For some reason Lady Violet did not seem to warm 
to the Dunnings, although she managed to take money 
off them at bridge, a game in which Miss Du Ranee 
had been recently initiated and for which she showed 
quite an aptitude. But in the matter of Sidney Dun¬ 
ning, the sponsor was inclined to think Marne might 
do worse. New money of course. Still. Que voulez 
vousf They lived in times when all money was new; 
the Bolshies of the earth, by no means confined to Rus¬ 
sia, had seen to that. Sidney Dunning was really not 
so bad. Eton and Christ Church: a little comically so, 
dear lad! But if Miss Du Ranee was giving her mind 
to such matters there could be no harm in Sidney Dun¬ 
ning. A mere, of course, was bent on a title; still in 
Celimene’s opinion it was rather up to Marne. 

Sidney Dunning would be an insurance anyway. He 


THERE IS A TIDE 


255 


was not the only dabchick on the water; there were 
others good and plenty; but his plumage was more 
richly feathered than theirs; and in the circumstances 
he would perhaps be safer. Half a million six per cent, 
high-class brewery debentures are nice things to have 
locked up in your husband’s strong box when you have 
no money of your own. Still, a little impertinent all 
this of Celimene, was not it? 

Not at all. Kind of Celimene to be so interested. 
But Marne felt she must take time to think over the 
matter. Some of the other birds on the water were 
such sweet ducks that it seemed a pity to grab at the 
nearest, merely because of its geographical situation. 


XXXVII 


A T the last moment, almost, came the much-desired 
• invitation to Dunkeldie. Lady Violet having 
heard that Mabel, her recently married sister, had de¬ 
cided not to go north this year, although expected to 
do so as usual, took the news in person to the ducal 
yacht as soon as it entered the harbour. As the astute 
Violet foresaw, Aunt Emily felt herself to be in rather 
a hat. It was a bit late in the day. Whoever filled the 
vacancy would do so now as an obvious substitute. 
Nobody likes to be that, as her niece was careful to point 
out. But her clever little American friend who was 
seeing as much of Britain as she could in the shortest 
possible time was likely to have no feelings of that 
kind. And everybody found her such fun! 

It was always Aunt Emily’s instinct to take the line 
of least resistance, particularly where the enterprising 
Violet was concerned. Dear Violet had her peculiari¬ 
ties, but she was a general favourite. She was so 
vivacious, so modern, so good-natured. You couldn’t 
help liking Violet. 

On this occasion Violet did not disdain a tactical 
coup. While Aunt Emily wavered she presented a kind 
of ultimatum. She had taken it so much for granted 
that Miss Du Ranee would be included in the invitation 

256 


THERE IS A TIDE 


257 


to Dunkeldie, that she was afraid she could not go 
north without her little friend. This rather “put it up” 
to Aunt Emily. But as the clever niece surmised, her 
own position with Clanborough House was strong 
enough “to try it on.” 

Aunt Emily had really no very strong feelings in the 
matter, even if some of her friends appeared to have. 
There was no harm in the little American beyond the 
fact, as one of the most influential of her countrywomen 
had quaintly expressed it, “she was as common as pig 
tracks.” But as the unconventional Violet pointed out, 
it all came down to whether one cared for a little garlic 
in the salad. Most people, nowadays, liked a dash of 
pungency. Even the most fastidious were in favour 
of a touch of spice in the social dish. There was no 
harm in Miss Du Ranee. Her only crime, even in the 
eyes of her critics, was that she was so very amusing. 
She would certainly add to the gaiety of Dunkeldie and 
that was all that mattered. 

Face to face with dear Violet, Aunt Emily did not 
take long to yield. Of late years this clever niece had 
been the life and soul of the party; her absence would 
now make a gap that nothing could fill. Besides, in 
some ways Miss Du Ranee was the obvious solution. 
If she didn’t really mind being asked at such short 
notice she would be made very welcome at Dunkeldie. 

The invitation was really obtained by force majeure. 
But none the less it came in its way as a triumph. Yet 
it was not so much a triumph for Miss Du Ranee as 
for her friend and sponsor. Marne was still rather 


THERE IS A TIDE 


258 

unsophisticated. Certain social nuances meant less to 
her than to Celimene. One set of “the folks” was much 
like another; so long as she could keep getting about 
to this function and that, she would not worry. But 
Lady Violet had made her protegee’s cause so much 
her own that she felt she could hardly afford to have 
her publicly slighted. 

Odd, was it not, that dear Violet should be so deter¬ 
mined to run the funny little American? But Violet 
was like that. She was always “running” someone. 
And as a rule the someone was more or less impossible. 
One year it was a Russian dancer, another a cubist 
painter, or a Polish musician. She seemed to take 
up queer people and develop a passion for them as 
others did for pekes or bulldogs or chows or angoras. 
Dear Violet’s trouble was too many brains. Her vein 
of freakishness sought expression in the freakishness 
of the world at large. 

Dunkeldie, as usual, was a huge success. The 
weather was perfect; the sport excellent. But the sport 
hardly mattered so much, even if it were heresy to say 
so, as in less attractive places. It was the people who 
gathered there who counted most. Year by year they 
came to Dunkeldie to have a good time. Along with 
some of the finest shots in the kingdom were others 
who, if they did not add to the prowess of the field, 
were highly accomplished in the arts and the graces of 
life. 

For Marne this was a fresh phase of existence. Her 
few days at Cowes aboard the Excelsior had done some- 


THERE IS A TIDE 


259 


thing to prepare her for the freedom of the moors; but 
Dunkeldie itself, gorgeously set in the lee of the Gram¬ 
pians, was something new. Dunkeldie was beyond her 
dreams. On the August evening she motored with 
Lady Violet from the train at Inverauchty, which was 
fifteen miles away and the nearest railway station, and 
saw the great house of stone nestling against a back¬ 
ground of mountain and forest and the heather billow¬ 
ing around it, she gave a little gasp. In rich and mys¬ 
terious beauty it was a place of faery. She had read of 
such homes, she had seen them pictured on the screen, 
but even in her most fanciful moments she hardly ex¬ 
pected to find them in her life good and real. 

When they wound uphill, in rather precipitous half 
circles, that last astonishing mile to the proud keep of 
Dunkeldie, and drew up in the golden light before the 
low lintel of the main entrance to the Castle, the first 
person to welcome them was Bill. He stood in the 
doorway looking superbly handsome in a sporran and 
kilt. The place itself was a thing of sheer beauty and 
somehow Bill matched it. 

At the sight of him Marne’s heart began to dance. 
He sent a loud who-whoop echoing among the angles 
of the stone walls and again danced her heart. And 
when he flung open the door of their car, before the 
douce footman could get down from his box, or an¬ 
other of his like could spring out from the portico, her 
blood thrilled. There seemed to be magic in the air. 

From the very hour of her arrival this feeling of 
magic in the air was upon Marne. And all the wonder- 


26 o 


THERE IS A TIDE 


ful days she was at Dunkeldie it never left her. The 
house itself was an embodied tradition. Its glamour 
was haunted by the spirit of place. That ancient roof- 
tree held strange secrets; and nothing so far in Marne’s 
life had quite prepared her for them. 

The train had reached Inverauchty an hour and a 
quarter late, as the trains in that part of the world had 
a way of doing. Dinner was due in twenty minutes. 
Therefore it was a bit of a scurry to change. Bill’s 
only accomplishment, at least to which he owned, 
although other people rated him a pretty useful shot 
and a fairly straight rider to hounds, was that he could 
“dress’’’ in ten minutes; but neither his sister nor Miss 
Du Ranee, even with Davis to help them, was quite up 
to that. Still in a quarter of an hour Celimene was 
looking her gay and cool and distinguished self in an 
old and plain black gown. It took Marne longer than 
that to don a frock rather more pictorial; but with 
Davis “to do her up,” she was looking presentable if 
not quite as Chick as she could have desired by the time 
dinner was announced. 

The guests, to the number of a round twenty, assem¬ 
bled in the armoury, a sort of large hall whose ancient 
usage had been agreeably softened by modem com¬ 
fort. It sounded dull, dismal, draughty, dour; as a 
fact it was quite cosy; and it had the advantage of 
being cool in summer, warm in winter. This evening 
at the end of August, its temperature was a happy 
medium. Whatever chill there was in it, due to the 
lengthening of the shadows around the mullioned win- 


THERE IS A TIDE 261 

dows, was merged in a general atmosphere of cheery 
good will. 

Even Uncle John and Aunt Emily, whose long suit 
was not exactly cheeriness, at any rate of a wildly 
festive kind, made a heroic effort this evening to as¬ 
sume that virtue. Nothing could have exceeded the 
kindness of their welcome. If they did not pretend to 
intellectual brilliance, and they had to be on their guard 
lest a sense of dignity was a little overdone, they were 
very sensible, well-meaning people; and if you were 
invited to their board they laid themselves out to see 
that you had a good time. 

Marne soon felt at home. The day’s journey had 
been long and tedious, but with the resiliency of youth 
she was able thoroughly to enjoy her dinner. Bill sat 
one side of her and a very distinguished politician who 
knew America and had a keen appreciation of all things 
American, sat the other. Conversation flowed. Good 
stories crossed the dinner table. A piper came skirling 
round the chairs of the guests. Wine, wit and good 
fellowship circulated freely. Marne surrendered to the 
feeling that this was life. 

She took her sponsor’s advice and went to bed early 
and in that wonderful highland air slept as never before 
unless it was in the early days on the farm after many 
hours of drudgery. It was a dreamless and renewing 
sleep and was only terminated when a sonsy lassie set 
some tea and bread and butter by the side of her bed, 
unbolted the large shutters and let in the sun. 

Five minutes later when Marne sprang out of bed 


262 


THERE IS A TIDE 


and gazed through the window upon the glory of the 
scene, the first object to catch her eye was a young man 
on the fair green below. He was diligently coaxing a 
small ball into an invisible hole by means of an odd 
piece of iron. Marne’s education, as yet, had not in¬ 
cluded the game of golf. But she knew it when she 
saw it. And as she stood watching this player she felt 
the time had come to develop her knowledge of a science 
peculiarly Scottish. 

The player was Bill. There was no escaping him. 
Early and late he seemed to be always in the centre of 
the picture. But why should one wish to escape him? 
Who could be fairer to look upon? A sight for sair 
eyne, as these quaint Scots said, this tall, brown, up¬ 
standing young fellow. 

By the time Marne was through the business of dress¬ 
ing, she had made up her mind to repair one more gap 
in her education. She must learn to play golf. And 
Bill it should be to give her a first lesson. A believer 
in the definite object, and a mark to aim at in the life 
of each day, she was as confirmed a go-getter in the 
Scotch highlands as on Broadway or in the Strand. 

Quickly she swallowed her porridge and bacon and 
sought the diligent Bill. He was still putting. In his 
way he also was a go-getter. For the time being, at 
any rate, he was the slave of ambition. Twelve was 
his present handicap, yet he saw no reason why concen¬ 
tration on the short game should not soon reduce it to 
a more seemly nine. 

With the genial forthcomingness that Marne con- 


THERE IS A TIDE 


263 

sidered to be not the least of Bill’s merits, he made his 
ambition known to her as soon as she came upon the 
scene. And she, with the engaging frankness which in 
his eyes was so attractive, promptly confided her own 
resolve. No hour like the present, declared Bill. The 
stalkers would not seek the hills before noon. Plenty 
of time for a lesson. 

“I’ll borrow a club off Gwendolen Childwick. Mine 
are a bit heavy for you. Then I’ll show you the swing. 
In this game the swing is everything; and it’s jolly 
difficult.” 

Marne was sure that it was. With a merry eye she 
watched Simplicitas stroll away in quest of Gwendolen 
Childwick’s bag. Gwendolen was a “scratch” player. 
Her bag was simply bulging with drivers and brassies, 
not to mention irons and spoons. 

If Bill was not, broadly speaking, one of nature’s 
most solid chunks of wisdom, that is to say he was a 
most deliciously tactless young man, he was yet brim¬ 
ming over with other qualities. And these greatly 
commended themselves to Marne. She broke into a low 
carol of pure joy when the sweet boob returned in 
about five minutes with Miss Childwick’s second-best 
driver. 

“Didn’t seem very keen on lending it, for some rea¬ 
son.” He proceeded to lock Marne’s fingers round the 
leather in the Vardon grip. “Worst of these classic 
gowfers is they are so fearfully particular about their 
clubs. But we can’t possibly do this one any harm, 
can we ?” 


264 


THERE IS A TIDE 


Mame was sure they could not. 

They spent a profitable hour. This pretty and clever 
Miss Du Ranee was a very apt pupil. Bill was con¬ 
vinced the root of the matter was in her. These Amer¬ 
icans had a wonderful faculty for picking up games. 
And their minds were so fresh and so cute. Most 
amusing che-ild he had met in a month of Sundays. 
The things she said and the way she said them! Yet 
learning, mark you, to swing that bally old club better 
and better all the time. 

“You’ll make a player,” was Bill’s pronouncement 
at the end of the lesson. “If you stick to it.” 

Rejoined little Miss Chicago: “I’ll stick to it like a 
sick kitten to a warm brick. Once I take a thing up 
I just hold on by my teeth. Do you think you can give 
me another lesson to-morrow, at the same time and the 
same place ?” 

“I’ll be delighted.” And Simplicitas looked as if he 
meant it. 


XXXVIII 


' | V HE next morning Mame received her second les- 
son in the art of golf. On this occasion the 
reluctant Gwendolen’s mashie was commandeered. As 
the amount of “pretty” at the edge of the putting green 
was strictly limited—the whole thing was no part of a 
bona fide course, but a makeshift affair—Bill thought, 
dear fellow, that Miss Du Ranee had better start with 
the serious business of “the short approach.” 

Her faculty for the short approach was marvellous. 
Physical power was not required. Mental concentra¬ 
tion it was that did the trick. You kept your eye on 
the ball, you sort of coaxed it right up to the hole, then 
you took a putter and there you were. Just as easy as 
falling off the Monument, as Miss Du Ranee drolly 
remarked. 

Bill took so much interest in the development of her 
latent skill that a morning lesson of at least one hour 
became a permanent daily feature. In seven days she 
had seven lessons. And she was such a sport, and so 
keen to learn, and Bill took such a pride in her progress 
and she was altogether so jolly that before half the 
period was through he was calling her Mame. This 
course of lessons was quite the most thriving study he 
had ever undertaken. 


265 


266 


THERE IS A TIDE 


Little Miss Chicago’s success was not confined to 
golf. After dinner there was generally music of one 
kind or another. Sometimes, if the day’s sport had 
not been too strenuous, there was dancing for the 
younger guests. Marne’s intelligence and lightness of 
foot made her an admirable pupil for several gentlemen 
wise in the native arts. Sometimes there were foxtrots 
to the strains of the victrola. In these Miss Du Ranee 
needed no instruction. Nay, she was in a position to 
impart it. And there was competition to receive the 
same. 

When the day’s stalk on the purple hills had been too 
fatiguing, as was sometimes the case, for even the 
junior sportsmen to take the floor after dinner, a piano 
was brought into use and comic songs were sung. 
Natural comedians were of the party. Bill was one. 
He could imitate certain music-hall stars to the life. 
Then there was a young chap in the Foreign Office who 
was so giftedly impecunious that he was seriously con¬ 
sidering the question of exchanging a career in diplo¬ 
macy which means so little in the way of lucre, for a 
contract with an Anglo-American syndicate to do a 
single on the big time. He could conjure and sing and 
play the fool “like old boots.” And he was so popular 
in consequence that he was asked to half the great 
houses in the kingdom. 

After all was said and done, however, the biggest 
success in this kind was reserved for little Miss Chicago. 
That was the name she went by with everybody. Some¬ 
how the title seemed to fit her. Even stately Uncle 


THERE IS A TIDE 


267 

John and statelier Aunt Emily, striving always for a 
sense of humour, that one real asset of which they had 
nothing to spare, alluded to her as little Miss Chicago. 
It was she who made the biggest hit of all. 

As Lady Violet said, it was when the minx sat down 
to the piano that she really got away with it. Her 
great song, which she had heard in one of the few suc¬ 
cessful New York revues that had not yet reached 
London, was called “I’m the Beautest Little Cutie in the 
Burg of Baltimore.” And she sang it with such con¬ 
viction and spirit and drollery that “the folks” seemed 
never to tire of listening. The music was topping and 
the words had a swing; while Miss Du Ranee’s render¬ 
ing of this gem of humour was such that, had it not 
been for Pop’s dollars, his reputed heiress might have 
turned to “the halls” as a means of livelihood. 

Indeed, Marne had the conviction of that within her 
in the Cowbarn days. She had quite a reputation at 
the homely parties and sing songs of that small town. 
And when Elmer P. had crystallised the local feeling 
in the words, “Marne Durrance is a kind of natural 
droll,” that lady had spent a whole fortnight gravely 
considering whether she could not make good in vaude¬ 
ville. 

It was gratifying to know that the early Cowbarn 
success could be repeated in the highlands of Scotland. 
To be sure, the audience was much more easily pleased. 
It appeared to consider her lightest word funny. Even 
her way of just sitting down to the piano and picking 


268 THERE IS A TIDE 

out the notes with one finger seemed to give some of 
them fits. 

Strange to say, however, among an audience which 
was so sympathetic, were one or two who seemed to be 
left quite cold by “The Beautest Little Cutie” and that 
other Broadway gem, which became only slightly less 
popular, “How’s Tricks?” These critics belonged, 
oddly enough, to Miss Du Ranee’s own sex, and still 
more oddly, considering the great and deserved repu¬ 
tation for humour of the American people, they be¬ 
longed, or had once belonged, at least their forebears 
had, to that up-and-coming nation. 

For instance, there was that Miss Child wick— 
Gwendolen she was called. If ever there was one, that 
was a hard girl. She seemed to have no use at 
all for the clever and lively Miss Du Ranee. Indeed, 
Marne, whose power of ear was so acute, overheard her 
saying to a sister compatriot, Mrs. Prance Horton, a 
social leader who had been recently imported from 
over the water, “that privately she considered that style 
of singing rather vulgar.” And Mrs. Prance Horton, 
whose home town was Boston, quite agreed with her. 

It was not so much what Miss Childwick said, it was 
the way she said it. She was always trying to put one 
over on Marne, or what came to the same thing, Marne 
thought she was. There was a certain amount of 
provocation, no doubt. All the world knew it was only 
a question of time for the fair Gwendolen’s engage¬ 
ment to Bill to be announced. Why it had not yet been 
made public and the day fixed, even Bill’s sister, who 


THERE IS A TIDE 269 

was so informed upon every subject, was at a loss to 
understand. 

Towards the end of the first week Miss Childwick’s 
attitude to “the little American”—as though she were 
not American herself, dear soul!—grew so marked in 
Marne’s sight, that she felt it would not take much for 
her to begin seeing red. The airs of Miss Three Ply 
Flannelette grew so insufferable that Marne was in¬ 
clined seriously to ask herself the question whether she 
ought to take them lying down. 

Cet animal est tres mechant. Quand on Vattaque, 
il se defend. Having regard to what happened the 
problem arises: Was it really necessary for Miss Du 
Ranee to defend herself in the way that she did? 
Opinions may differ. Yet few will deny that only a 
little fool would have missed such a chance. 

It was after a week of highland magic that Marne 
felt the fierce impact of poetry and romance. Hitherto 
in her twenty-two years of existence precious little of 
those elements had come her way. But life at Dun- 
keldie was so different .from any she had known. This 
was a new kingdom. And in the heart of it was the 
queer thing that makes some guys ramp and rage with 
rapture and those more worldly shrug and smile and 
shake their polls. 


XXXIX 


HINGS went from bad to worse between Mame 



and Miss Childwick. The Three Ply Lady had 
a clever and spiteful tongue under a proud reserve of 
manner, a discovery made by Miss Du Ranee when 
quite by accident she overheard her small self being 
dissected by certain members of the house party. 

“Violet will soon tire of her.” 

Tire of whom? That was the question for Mame, 
as those significant words stole on her keen ears. This 
conversation followed an enjoyable al fresco luncheon 
on the hillside. The guns had gone on while the ladies 
rested a little from the heat of the day. Mame had got 
her back to a shady fir which concealed her effectively 
and was composing herself for a siesta when she caught 
those words proceeding from the bole of an adjacent 
tree. 

“She reminds me of an opossum.” It was the aris¬ 
tocratic voice of Mrs. Prance Horton, whose first name 
was Gloria. “Don’t you know, one of those queer little 
animals who live in the gum trees of the South. They 
can be taught all sorts of monkey tricks, but are never 
really tame. It seems to me that dear Violet is teach¬ 
ing this opossum all sorts of tricks, but I don’t think 
she’ll be amused with her long.” 


THERE IS A TIDE 


271 

“Why don’t you?” That was the voice of Miss 
Childwick. It sounded interested and alert. 

“A little too dangerous, my dear. Besides, dear 
Violet soon tires of her toys. Don’„t you remember the 
young cubist she ran and the Russian pianiste and the 
Carmanian princess who turned out to be a well-known 
impropriety? She gives all her toys their heads, for a 
time, then she drops them and they are never heard of 
again.” 

“But as this girl is so rich—” 

“That is the point. Is she so rich? Nobody has 
heard of her father. Marcella Newsum doubts whether 
she has any money at all.” 

“Violet says—” 

“—she is the richest thing that ever happened. And 
knowing our Violet, that may mean one thing or it 
may mean another. But I am none the less convinced 
that if this Miss Thingamy, whoever she may be, is 
half as cute as she looks, she’ll lose no time in feather¬ 
ing her little nest.” 

“Well, I do think it is high time that Violet shed 
her.” 

“I quite agree. And from what one gathers, Violet 
herself is beginning to think so too. She is afraid the 
little monkey may get up to some mischief.” 

“That would not be at all surprising.” Very dry 
sounded the voice of Gwendolen Childwick, as she got 
up with her friend and moved on. 

Marne stayed where she was. Grave reflections min¬ 
gled now with the desire for a gentle siesta. The con- 


2J2 


THERE IS A TIDE 


versation she had overheard was wounding and it was 
disquieting. In the last few days a suspicion had begun 
to dawn upon her of a change in Lady Violet’s attitude. 
Her friend was not quite so cordial or so light-hearted 
as she had been. 

Lady Violet was known to be capricious. She had 
proved so in the first place, by taking up on sight a 
nameless little American newspaper girl. And if she 
smelt danger, as no doubt she did, Marne Du Ranee 
might wake one morning and find herself “in the 
discard.” 

As Marne tramped slowly back through the heather 
with the other ladies towards the proud keep of Dun- 
keldie her mind was working with the vigour of a small 
dynamo. She must come down to cases. There was 
a Tide. By hook or by crook these women meant to 
down her. Moreover, they looked like doing it. 

The stalkers made a day of it. Early to bed was 
the order. Even Bill was tired out. But the morrow 
was spent in the less strenuous pursuit of a few stray 
grouse. And after dinner the younger sportsmen 
being game for a hop, the whole party except one or 
two of the seniors, who were incorrigible bridge play¬ 
ers, adjourned to the ballroom. The victrola was 
brought into use. And after Marne had danced twice 
with Bill, who had certainly improved since their first 
essay at the Orient Dance Club, she suddenly began to 
realise that the time was now. 

For one thing it was an evening of warm splendour. 
The harvesters’ moon was near its zenith. When in 


THERE IS A TIDE 


273 

the middle of the dance the massive windows of the 
ballroom were thrown open, the fair scene beyond of 
woodland, lake and fell looked gloriously inviting. 

As Marne stood resting from her labours, with Bill 
by her side, and with the wary eyes of at least one 
other lady upon them, she sighed with a certain wist¬ 
fulness. “That water with the moon on it looks good 
to me.” 

“It is good.” In the last week or two Bill had 
grown rather quicker in the uptake. 

“I wish I could row as well as you can.” Marne 
was still wistful. Bill was a “wet bob” and already 
he had demonstrated to Miss Du Ranee the worth of 
his early training. “Any fool can.” Yet he must have 
known that any fool could not. 

“Such a night as it is, ,? sighed Marne. “I never saw 
a moon that size.” 

Bill, poor loon, had never seen a moon that size 
either. 

“Just dandy how those beams strike the water.” Who 
was the guy in the office calendar who got away with 

The stag at eve had drunk his fill, 

Where danced the moon on Monan’s rill? 

Old man Bums, wasn’t it? Or was it old man Scott? 
Under the magic spell of the moon on the water, Marne 
moved a little nearer. “Say, bo,” she whispered in 
the tone that always amused him, yet with a little shiver 
of feeling in it that in the tranced ear of Bill was 


THERE IS A TIDE 


274 

something more than merely amusing, “that little rill 
out there does look good to me.” 

The mobility of Bill’s mind was still nothing remark¬ 
able, but it sufficed. “If you’ll put on a cloak or some¬ 
thing, we might go and see if we can find that boat we 
had the other day.” 

“That’ll be bully,” sighed Marne softly to the moon. 


XL 


QHE went and got her cloak. Bill was waiting for 
^ her below in the hall. They passed out through a 
side door of the Castle, across the putting green, along 
a little sidepath to a wicket. Just beyond the wicket 
was the lake. And by its marge was moored a sort 
of coracle. 

The moon was so much their friend that they had 
no difficulty in finding this skiff. Getting aboard, how¬ 
ever, was not quite such a simple business. She was 
but a cockleshell of a craft which had to be nicely 
trimmed to accommodate two. But Marne, sure-footed 
as a cat, instinctively disposed herself in the right spot. 
Bill untied the boat and took the oars and then began 
their odyssey. 

In the centre of the lake, which although deep in 
places was not very wide, was a tiny isle. There was 
room for Miranda and Ferdinand upon it, for a few 
birds and a few rushes and a few trees and for not 
much else. But in the moonlight it shone with the pale 
magic of faery. Here, sure, was the local habitation 
of romance. The lure of that shadow-and-tide- 
haunted spot was irresistible. Bill began to witch the 
night with oarmanship; and in five minutes or less the 
coracle had touched at Prospero’s enchanted island. 
275 


THERE IS A TIDE 


276 

As they floated gently through the veil of the trees, 
while the water lapped musically and one startled bird 
rose eerily with a loud whir, Mame had the happy illu¬ 
sion that she was a classic heroine. This is how those 
romantic janes must have felt in old days when those 
poetic guys wrote sonnets to their eyebrows. 

Plying the oars with uncommon skill this guy ap¬ 
peared too much of a man to be a poetry addict. He 
was a regular fellow of the twentieth century; a prac¬ 
tical modern with all the latest improvements. There 
was nothing highfalutin about him. Yet even he, as 
seen by the light of that wonderful moon, had rather 
the air of a venturer in strange places. 

“Say, listen, bo, this seems pretty good to me.” 
Hardly more than a whisper those half comic words, 
yet full of feeling, full of comradeship, full of whim¬ 
sicality. Bill chuckled softly. The charming minx 
had expressed his own idea of the subject. Yes, it 
was pretty good. There was magic in the water, in 
the trees, in the very air and texture of this wonderful 
night. He had never lived such moments. This high¬ 
land country with the power of the moon upon it sort 
of carried one beyond oneself. 

What a topping little girl! So different from the 
others. Not that they were not good and jolly in their 
way. In the sight of Bill all girls were good and jolly; 
but some, of course, had more vim and sparkle, more 
originality, more zip. Yes, a good girl. The way 
that old moon picked out the curve of her chin and the 
way the blue-green water was reflected in her rather 


THERE IS A TIDE 


277 

queer but alluring eyes gave one a corking feeling of 
living the big, glad life. 

Bill’s ambition, at that moment, was to take her in 
his arms and kiss her. But an unwary movement must 
overturn them sure. He must wait until he could beach 
the skiff and dispose of the oars. 

Coasting around they entered a small shallow cove, 
where the tree-laden banks came down gently to the 
water’s edge. This was the spot. Bill ran the boat 
on to a tiny strand. Yet by occult means the dark 
purpose in the mind of Ferdinand was already com¬ 
municated to the heart of Miranda. 

Just as he was about to lay aside his oars, she rose 
like a bird and flew ashore. It was now a case of come 
and find me. Heedless of her slippers she sprang up 
a dry grassy knoll with Bill in quick pursuit. She 
flitted behind a tree and then another and then another. 
The pursuit was hot but she was agile. Through 
heather and ferns she flew. As she passed from tree 
to tree, a moonlit wraith in her white cloak, she was like 
a naiad, an incarnation of elfin laughter and mirth. 

Bill was a good trier, but this woodland sprite took 
a lot of catching. He was one of those hefty fellows 
whom nature had not designed for mobility. Some¬ 
thing better, however, than mere speed was his. He 
was a stayer. Even if not fleet of foot he took a lot 
of shaking off once he had hit the trail. 

She darted like a squirrel from tree to tree. But 
Bill the relentless was always there. Presently she 
would tire, but no tiring for him this side the rising of 


THERE IS A TIDE 


278 

the sun. Already she was slowing down. Yard by 
yard he was gaining. There was only one tree between 
them now. There was less than a tree; there was less 
than half a tree. 

Now, you nymph! She was as slender in his arms 
as a young willow. But her motions were very wild 
and quick. The bright red life was tingling in every 
electric inch of her. It was wonderful what force and 
liveliness she had. This was a girl. A sweet little 
mouth. She fought a bit, she kicked him on the shin, 
but it was not the sort of kick that meant anything. 

Blown and tossed, yet hooting with a laughter that 
shocked the island’s other inhabitants, they came pres¬ 
ently to earth on the dry bank above the pellucid water. 
But Ferdinand held Miranda close. Not a chance for 
her to slip from his arms and elude him again. 

The witch seemed to have no especial desire for more 
feats of the kind. That strong and manly arm was 
far too good to have around one. And there was such 
a slender hope of getting free. One half-hearted at¬ 
tempt was the sum of all her struggles. 

What was that plopping in the water? A fish? 
Some funny old bird? Was that a coney? What a 
moon it was! How weird and yet how grand it made 
the Castle look. To think that pile of stones had stood 
just so in the time of Robert the Bruce. 

Had Bill read any of the romances of old man Scott? 

Yes, he seemed to remember having read Robinson 
Crusoe. That was mainly about an island, wasn’t it? 
Then there was Don Quixote. Those were the only 


THERE IS A TIDE 


279 

works he had read of Sir Walter Scott. Personally 
he always felt that real life was so much better than 
simply reading about it ... . 

She had a most kissable mouth. 

“Tell me, Puss, do you think you could stick me 
for always ?” 

The Simplicitas question seemed to jump so abruptly 
upon her that Marne was caught unawares. 

It was not that she hadn’t seen it coming. Sooner 
or later it was bound to arise. But she hadn’t expected 
the boob to take off quite so soon. Here he was fairly 
plopping into her pocket, without giving her a chance 
of making adequate preparation to receive him. 

Even at Cowbarn, Iowa, where the roughneck 
abounds, Bill’s form would have been rated a trifle 
crude. The question had been half invited, yet cer¬ 
tainly she would like to have had a little more in the 
way of notice. Still there it was. No parrying, no 
parleying, no evading. Excited she was, but she must 
pull her fool self together; she must bring her wits 
into play. This was a matter for now. 

Never had she felt so near complete happiness. A 
big moment. The romance of the circumstances made 
her feel a wee bit delirious; the pressure of life in her 
veins was terrific. A spell was in the trees and the 
mountains; on the heather; on the keep of Dunkeldie; 
on the moon-haunted lake. Magic had got into her 
blood. 

She must take a pull on herself, she must look around. 
This was a powerful question. There were many im- 


28 o 


THERE IS A TIDE 


plications. But why bother her head about them, even 
if at this moment she was capable of doing so, which 
beyond a doubt she was not. 

“Sorry to rush my fences like this.” The voice, deep 
and level, was very close to her ear. “But we are just 
made for one another. And I mean to have you.” 

“Don’t be too sure of that, honey.” That was the 
answer she meant to give. Had she not been carried 
so completely away by the enchantments of that old 
and wicked moon, it would have been given beyond a 
doubt. But just now she was not able to do as she 
liked; that was to say, being half off your balance sim¬ 
ply reft you of the power of doing what you didn’t like. 
It would go to her heart to throw away this golden 
chance. Empire over oneself would be needed for that. 
Besides, the trees of the island whispered to her, Marne 
Durrance, what a fool puss you’ll sure be if you do. 


XLI 


/ T A HE best of times come to an end. And they have 
a trick of coming to an end abruptly. Such was 
Marne’s thought, when on the morning of the thirteenth 
day of Dunkeldie, or to be a little more precise, on the 
morning after the visit to Prospero’s magic island, 
there came a knock on her bedroom door, while she 
was sewing lace on a camisole. Lady Violet entered. 

She was a bearer of ill tidings. ‘‘We must pack up 
to-morrow.” 

Marne’s countenance fell. She had been cherishing 
a hope that her clever friend would be able to wangle 
at least one week more. It was the good life; every¬ 
thing was going swimmingly; this was the first sug¬ 
gestion that it was about to end so soon. 

“Won’t your Aunt Emily stand for us a bit longer?” 
Marne was inclined to question the fates. 

“It isn’t altogether that. Aunt Emily would like us 
to stay on, but there’s bread and butter to consider, you 
know.” 

Ruefully Marne supposed there was. Still the firm 
seemed to be carrying on pretty well at Dunkeldie. And 
their locum tenens, one Gerty Smith, was diligent and 
trustworthy. 

“But aren’t we rather taking chances? There’s New 
281 


282 


THERE IS A TIDE 


York to think of now. It won’t do to be too much 
behind with our information.” 

“We’re not so behind as all that. There’s nothing 
much doing in London, and what there is Gerty Smith 
can attend to. Seems to me an extra seven days here 
isn’t going to matter.” 

Disappointment was in Marne’s tone and there was 
no attempt to conceal it. She had counted on another 
magic week. But Celimene was adamant. 

“There’s that new play on Monday at the St. James’s, 
also one on Tuesday at the Shaftesbury.” 

“Gerty can fix those.” 

“Unfortunately they are both American pieces. And 
New York won’t like it if we don’t give of our best.” 

“Shucks!” protested Marne. “Gerty can mug up a 
notice as slick as we can. If you tell her just what to 
say beforehand—uproarious welcome, speeches before 
the curtain and all the rest of the dope—New York’ll 
never know the difference.” 

“I don’t quite agree.” Celimene’s voice had grown 
particularly calm and quiet. 

Once before and once only had Marne heard that 
voice. On that occasion it was the prelude to trouble. 
She looked shrewdly at her mentor. And what she 
saw gave her pause. 

The gay and laughing eyes had hardened. They were 
still gay and laughing, but behind them was an elusive 
something Marne did not like. Her keen perception 
had noted for some days past a subtle change in the 
manner of Bill’s sister. The thought had already 


THERE IS A TIDE 283 

crossed Marne’s mind that those prize cats had been 
getting at the friend to whom she owed so much. 

“Davis will give you a hand with your packing.” 
The tone, light and gentle as it was, sounded absolutely 
final. “To-morrow morning we must catch the ten 
o’clock from Inverauchty.” 

There was nothing to be done. Short of open de¬ 
fiance, to which Marne was sorely tempted, and yet was 
wise enough not to yield, no alternative was left. 

Bill was bitterly disappointed when he heard the bad 
news. He had taken it for granted that Marne was 
staying on. But in his way he was a philosopher. 

“I’ll be in London about ten days from now. And 
then—and then we’ll roll along to Cartier’s and choose 
a ring.” 

Marne’s eyes shone. It was the tangible evidence of 
her triumph and of her happiness. Yes, there was 
magic in the air of Dunkeldie. Life might be a long 
round of daily disappointment, but back of everything 
was always the Big Stuff, if only one had the luck and 
the pluck to be able to pull it. 

“Have you told Violet?” She was able to ask that 
serious question in spite of a tumultuous heart. There 
was reason to suppose that he had. 

“Not yet. I’ll tell my mother first, if you don’t 
mind. No need to set tongues wagging too soon. You 
can tell Vi when you like, of course; but people when 
they get publicly engaged look and feel such fools, don’t 
they?” 

Marne supposed they did. And her triumph would 


284 


THERE IS A TIDE 


keep. The announcement, when it came, would be 
rather like exploding a bomb in the new world she had 
entered. Gwendolen Childwick would be furious. So 
would the other furry ones. And Violet certainly was 
not going to like it. 

How could she? Marne did not disguise from her¬ 
self that she was worried by the thought of the friend 
to whom she owed so much. An uncomfortable feel¬ 
ing overtook her. To have caught this much-cherished 
bird was perilously akin to ingratitude. 

Disappointing as it was to cut short the time of one’s 
life at Dunkeldie, out of regard for another’s caprice, 
London, on Marne’s return, did not seem so bad. She 
had found it a funny old burg and in some respects an 
overrated one; yet it is the sort of place to which most 
people don’t mind going back once in a while. There 
is usually something doing in London in the early fall. 

To begin with, there was the question of daily bread. 
And Marne’s heart was really in her job. She had 
made good in the highlands; yet one glamorous hour, 
no matter how crowded and glorious, cannot undo the 
mental habits of a lifetime. She was now the bride- 
elect of a marquis, but first and foremost she remained 
a go-getter. It gave her a wonderful thrill to receive 
every morning a rather illiterate-looking letter with a 
Scotch postmark; but it was still her nature to be up and 
coming. 

She liked the true London-and-New York sort of 
feeling of being a busy young bee; of doing the work 
of the hive. There was a sense of power in gathering 


THERE IS A TIDE 


285 

news first hand; of putting it in tabloid form; of send¬ 
ing it over the wires of divers oceans and continents. 
She had lived magic hours. But wise folks don’t put 
their trust in magic. London and the daily round were 
a useful antidote. 

Life had suddenly grown big and rich and beautiful. 
All the same it was not without its peril. Marne had 
a keen desire to confide the great secret to her house¬ 
mate and partner. Yet her courage was not equal to 
the task. She could not help thinking, from her 
friend’s perceptible change of attitude, that she must 
know what was in the air. Arid silence upon the sub¬ 
ject of Bill lent colour to this theory. Once or twice, 
greatly daring, Marne had broached it stealthily, in the 
hope of finding out how the land lay. But on each 
occasion Lady Violet hastened to talk of something else. 

The friendship, which to Marne had always been 
delightful, seemed to wear quite thin in the fortnight 
which elapsed before Bill, true to his promise, was 
again in London. An ever-growing coolness was dis¬ 
cernible in his sister. Conscience may have played its 
part in the matter; yet there was no disguising that 
icicles were around. Marne was not unheedful. She 
could not forget the recent past; she could not forget 
how much she owed to a true friend. Bill was Bill; 
he was just lovely; but without the sanction of his 
family it might be difficult for their happiness to be 
really complete. 

The young man had not been home ten hours from 
Scotland when he rang up Marne in Half Moon Street. 


286 


THERE IS A TIDE 


She must be at the Berkeley or the Ritz, whichever she 
preferred, at a quarter past one; they would have a bit 
of lunch and then toddle round into Bond Street and 
choose the ring. 

How good to hear that gay voice on the phone. 
What a rare power he had of keying one up. He was 
so responsive. Everything one said, the most common¬ 
place remarks, seemed to tickle his sense of humour. 

“The Ritz, a quarter after one, honey. I’ll be 
around.” 

At twelve Marne downed tools. 

“Eve got to go out to lunch,” she announced casually. 
“So I guess I’ll go and doll up a bit.” 

“Right-o.” Celimene was curt. She had already 
said that she was lunching out. For that matter she 
had only once lunched at the Ladies Imperium since 
the return from Scotland; so that the old friendly habit 
of the partnership of reserving a table near the window 
with a view of the Green Park no longer held. 

Did Violet know what was in the wind? She was 
marvellous at reading signs. With all her casualness 
and her rather aristocratic viewpoint, which was such 
a handicap to getting money, she was just as clever as 
she could stick. Anyhow, she would have to be told 
soon. And there sure would be a dandy fuss. 

Each time Marne ventured a glance at Celimene, the 
less she fancied the cut of her distinguished jib. 


XLII 


T>ILL looked a peach in his Guards’ tie, when at a 
quarter past one he was discovered among the 
ferns at the Ritz. Mame had no wish to be unduly 
set up with herself; nay she was too wise ever to be 
so, but there was a happy sense which informed her 
that she was some advertisement for the new dress¬ 
maker Gwympe. Right up to the knocker. Right up 
to the nines. Everything just so. Since she had gone 
to live at Half Moon Street she had developed taste in 
clothes. The neat coat frock of navy blue gabardine 
was the last word in style; the same applied to the dinky 
little hat of black velvet. 

A good world, thought Mame, and Bill thought so 
too, as they ate a delicate but expensive luncheon. 
And then at their leisure they crossed the road and 
sauntered down a famous street as far as a famous 
jeweller’s, where the ring was duly chosen. Being a 
marquis, Bill was rather a believer in doing things well. 
The ring was therefore no half-and-half affair, but the 
last cry of fashion, wonderfully devised of small pearls 
and diamonds. It cost, no doubt, a pretty figure. What 
the exact sum was remained a secret between Bill and 
the jeweller; and there was no happier girl than Mame 
in the whole of London, when with that token glitter- 

28* 


288 


THERE IS A TIDE 


ing on her finger she and her affianced sought again the 
air of Bond Street. 

They strolled down Piccadilly. In their glossy ele¬ 
gance, surmounted by faces of healthy Scottish tan, 
they were decidedly good to look at. Many sympathetic 
glances were directed upon them by the passers-by. 
Some people consider that taking one day with another 
there is a greater pressure of really good-looking people 
to the square yard in that gentle declivity which ends 
at Hyde Park Corner than in any stretch of equal 
length on the wide earth. The type of beauty there 
represented is so honest, so upstanding, so cheerfully 
simple yet so immaculately dressed. Bill and his young 
lady did no dishonour to Piccadilly north side; and had 
they had eyes for aught but each other they might have 
learned how much they were admired. 

In point of fact Marne did happen to catch the eye 
of one little girl remarkably like herself of a few short 
months ago, who with her satchel containing heaven 
knew what secret ambitions, was on her way back to 
her work. She was a resolute and plucky bit of a thing, 
withal a little peaked and pale, a little tired and a little 
bored; and there was more than mere admiration in 
the glance which envisaged Marne, her clothes, and her 
escort. There was a wistful envy. 

Yes, honey, thought Marne complacently, you do well 
to envy me. Just now I am the happiest girl in London. 
It all seems too good to be true. I feel sure there must 
be a catch in it somewhere. But the glow of feeling 
continued as far as the Park gates, where they turned 


THERE IS A TIDE 


289 

in, and the day being wonderfully bright and mild, as 
it often is in England towards the middle of September, 
they sat on garden chairs for two solid hours at a point 
equi-distant between the Achilles Statue and Knights- 
bridge Barracks where the Pinks were now in residence. 

Those two hours of prattling to Bill and of Bill 
prattling to her Marne never forgot. Her sense of 
everything seemed to grow richer and deeper. Wasn’t 
it Hamlet or some other wise guy who had put it over 
in the office calendar that heaven and earth held more 
things than he dreamed of? That was exactly how 
Marne felt now. She could hardly believe that she her¬ 
self was she. Was this the little hick who a year ago 
had hardly been ten miles away from Cowbarn, Iowa, 
in all her young life? Was this the little mucker New 
York had laughed at? She was far too practical to 
believe in fairies, but she could not deny the feeling 
that a spell was at work. 

Bill was charming to sit by and talk to. He made 
not the slightest pretence of being a highbrow. Out 
of doors was his special hobby; an easy-going sports¬ 
man was what he looked and that sure was what he 
was. They discussed the immediate future; wondered 
when and how and where they should tie the knot and 
so on. ‘Til nip along to the Button Club presently— 
the box with the windows we passed just now—and 
write a line to my mother. You haven’t met her yet, 
have you? She’s a great dear, she really is, even if 
she does live all the year round in Shropshire. I’ll tell 
her we want to get married as soon as we can. And 


290 


THERE IS A TIDE 


as we are both quiet, homely sort of birds we sha’n’t 
want much in the way of a wedding.” 

Marne was all in favour. No doubt some of the 
folks would want to be there. But the quieter the bet¬ 
ter. She was never one for display. And when Bill 
declared he would not mind how soon they were 
‘‘spliced,” with this also she was in cordial agreement. 

These were moments of real happiness. And yet, 
and yet, there was just one moment of swords. After 
they had sat a full two hours on the garden chairs, 
absorbed in the contemplation of each other and their 
future plans, they got up and made a move in the direc¬ 
tion of tea. It could be purchased and consumed in 
an open-air enclosure thoughtfully provided by the 
London County Council. They were in the act of 
crossing the park’s central artery when Marne’s eye was 
caught by a gently gliding limousine. It was a won¬ 
derful dingus, the latest word, with chauffeur and foot¬ 
man whose liveries matched the peerless machine. Two 
ladies were seated inside. Both, however, appeared to 
be gazing ostentatiously in another direction. 

“Say, look, honey. Gwendolen Childwick. Is that 
her Mommer?” 

Bill’s answer was a rather amused but quite indiffer¬ 
ent yes. “Mommer carries a bit of sail, I always think. 
Some of these Fifth Avenue queens do, they say.” 

“Very rich, I suppose.” Marne had an odd flutter¬ 
ing of the nerves for which she couldn’t quite account. 

“I forget how many millions of dollars. But some¬ 
thing pretty tall.” 


THERE IS A TIDE 


291 

'‘Well, they needn’t treat us as if we were just 
dirt.” 

“Didn’t see us.” Bill took an obvious and common- 
sense view of a quite trivial incident. 

“No, they just didn’t,” Marne showed venom. “But 
I guess they’d have seen you soon enough if I hadn’t 
been with you.” 

In the particular circumstances it was not a very 
judicious thing to have said. But even Mdlle. L’Espi- 
nasse may nod on occasion. Not, of course, that it 
really mattered. Bill seemed absolutely indifferent. If 
one happens to be an old-established British marquis 
one is apt to take things as they come. Not his to 
reason why Gwendolen and her mamma looked point¬ 
edly in an opposite direction. 

Bill calmly brushed the incident aside. But Marne 
lacked something of his detachment. Her gaiety grew 
suddenly less. That glimpse of Gwendolen seemed to 
cast a shadow over the rosy prospect. Why it should 
do so Marne did not know. What was Miss Three Ply 
Flannelette and all her millions of dollars to either of 
them now? 

Still there was no denying that the cup of tea did not 
taste so good as Marne had expected. Perhaps it was 
that a faint cloud had crossed the sun of her great 
happiness, although so far as the September blue was 
concerned, hardly a puff was visible. Yet, in spite of 
the glory of the day, a touch of autumn began to steal 
upon the air. 

They didn’t sit long over their tea. Marne felt in 


292 


THERE IS A TIDE 


duty bound to return to the day’s rather neglected work. 
Bill, moreover, had a very important letter to write to 
his mother. But they continued to enjoy each other’s 
company all the way back along Rotten Row and up 
by Hamilton Place, where Bill, after duly making an 
appointment at the same highly convenient spot for the 
morrow, entered the Button Club to do the deed. 

Marne walked slowly along to Half Moon Street. 
For some reason she was feeling more anxious, more 
excited than she cared about when she entered the flat. 
She shed her gloves and took off her hat. And then 
she went into the small room in which most of their 
work was done and resolutely confronted the type¬ 
writer. 

Violet had not yet come in. This was fortunate. 
Marne felt in need of a respite in which to collect her 
thoughts. For the hour was at hand when the dramatic 
announcement must be made. Violet would have to 
know. And she had better know now. 

There was really no reason, Marne argued with her 
somewhat fluttered self, why she should worry. It was 
not as if she had been guilty of anything dishonourable. 
Violet was not going to like it, of course. Beyond a 
doubt she had set her heart on Bill marrying Gwen¬ 
dolen Childwick. Still that was merely a question of 
Gwendolen’s dollars. Bill obviously did not want to 
marry mere dollars. So from that point of view it was 
doing him a simple kindness to save him from that fate. 
Dollars are not everything. Besides, as one of the 
johns in the office calendar had explicitly stated, In 


THERE IS A TIDE 


2 93 

love and war all is fair. Even if Bill’s sister took it 
amiss, Mame felt she need not reproach herself. 

Clucking away at the typewriter, she hardened her 
heart. The time was now. It was her duty to break 
the news before the world was a day older. 

While she nursed this growing resolution she heard 
the front door open. And then came Violet’s light but 
decided step in the hall. A minute later when she came 
into the room she lacked nothing of that genial insou¬ 
ciance which Mame so much admired. But as Mame 
glanced up she was a little chilled by her eyes. The 
absence of real friendliness, which once had verged on 
affection, was now complete. 

“Where have you been to, my pretty maid?” The 
question was humorously put. Had Violet been dying 
it would still have been a point of honour with her to 
put things humorously. 

“Getting engaged to be mar-ri-ed, please m’m, she 
said.” The retort was quick. It was also bold. Mame 
was wise enough to appreciate that this particular bull 
would have to be taken by the horns. 

Violet was startled. It was not a bit of use dis¬ 
sembling : she was really startled. Mame, besides, once 
she had begun upon the cold drawn truth was no be¬ 
liever in half measures. She lifted her left hand from 
the typewriter and flashed its new brilliancy before the 
astonished eyes of her questioner. 

“How beautiful!” There was nothing in the gay 
voice to betray anxiety; all the same a slight change of 
colour rather gave Bill’s sister away. “My dear, you 


THERE IS A TIDE 


294 

have told me nothing of this.” Mame could not help 
admiring her friend’s fortitude. “Tell me, who is the 
happy man ?” 

“Mean to say you can’t guess?” Each syllable ex¬ 
pressed incredulity. 

“How should one?” 

Violet kept up the game pretty well, but the note of 
innocence was pitched just a shade high. Evidently 
she felt it necessary to play for time. 

“Aw, shucks, honey. Cut it out.” In the stress of 
pure emotion Mame had a sudden relapse to the primi¬ 
tive manner of her fathers. “Who do you think it can 
be? The Prince of Wales?” 

Violet’s heart was sinking, sinking, but she contrived 
to keep up the farce. “Not a ghost of an idea.” 

“Take three guesses.” 

But Violet only took one. “You don’t mean to say, 
you . . .” 

All pretence was at an end. Bill’s sister spoke with 
a slow reproachfulness that caused Mame to feel de¬ 
cidedly uncomfortable. But she determined to put the 
best face she could on the matter. “Why not?” she 
laughed. “Do you blame me?” 

“Blame you!” The note in the disciplined voice 
sounded odd. Violet’s face and tone hardened in a 
way that Mame found rather alarming. “What you 
really deserve is a thorough good beating.” 

For one vital moment it looked as if this really was 
going to be a case of teeth and claws. But of a sudden 
Violet took herself strongly in hand. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


295 


Never in her life had it been so difficult for Violet 
to wear the mask of indifference. She would have 
liked to have killed this marauder. But in her heart 
she knew that she herself was almost wholly responsible 
for a tragic situation. She had been properly punished 
for the levity of her approach to certain conventions. 
How could she have been paid out better for playing 
the fool? 

However, this was not a moment for self-castigation. 
She must act. The matter was so horribly serious that 
it hardly bore thinking about. All the tact, all the 
diplomacy she could muster had now to be brought 
into play. 

A trying pause threatened to intensify the awkward¬ 
ness of things. And then said Violet in a tone that 
would keep hardening in spite of herself: “Before you 
mention this to anyone, I hope you will see my mother. 
Will you promise that?” 

Marne did not answer at once. Her instinct was to 
ask Bill. Perhaps Violet may have guessed as much. 
For she was not to be put off. She made her demand 
again and with an urgency quite new in Marne’s 
experience of her. This was a new Violet alto¬ 
gether. 

“Please, you must promise.” The gay voice had 
grown coldly resolute. “Something is due to us, you 
know.” 

There was cause to regret those words as soon as 
they were uttered. For their effect was to stiffen 
Marne’s feathers. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


296 

“We’ll leave that to him, I guess.” There was re¬ 
sentment in the answer. 

Considerable strength of will was needed for Violet 
to withhold the remark that Bill was a perfect fool. 
But she was able to fight down the raging tempest. 
“I am going to telegraph for my mother to come up 
at once. And in the name of our friendship I ask you 
to keep the engagement a close secret until—until you 
have seen her.” 

Marne was inclined to resent the tone. But lurking 
somewhere in her crude yet complex mind was that 
rather unfeminine sense, fair play. She could not quite 
forget, after all, how much she owed to Violet. In the 
circumstances she had a right to demand this of her. 

“Well, honey, I’ll do what you say,” drawled Marne 
with light drollery. “But I can’t answer for that l’i’l 
bird.” 

Lady Violet’s eyes sparkled rather grimly, but she 
managed to keep her voice under control. “No, you 
can’t, of course.” By a mighty effort she got back on 
to the plane she was determined to occupy. “But if 
you can persuade him to hold his tongue for a day or 
two you’ll be helping everybody—yourself not least 
of all.” 

The depth of the argument was a point beyond 
Marne. She could not pretend to be versed in the ways 
of the hothouse world she was about to enter. But 
evidently her friend had powerful reasons. Even if 
she was cutting up pretty rough there would be no 
harm in humouring her. Nay, it would be wise. Be- 


THERE IS A TIDE 


297 


sides, as Marne’s conscience was careful to insist, it 
was right to make this concession. No need to stand 
too much on dignity, particularly as she had a real 
regard for Violet and so must do nothing to embitter 
their relations. 

‘Til do all I can anyway to keep it a secret until I’ve 
seen your Mommer,” said Marne generously. 


XLIII 



HE next day, about six o’clock in the evening, 


A Lady Violet was sitting alone with some very 
hard and rueful thoughts when Davis, with a face of 
doom, portentously announced the Marchioness of 
Kidderminster. 

She had come up post haste from Shropshire. On 
the top of Violet’s urgent but cryptic telegram had ar¬ 
rived an amazing letter from Bill. Their mother, on 
the spur of the moment, had made up her mind to 
catch the n 115 at Millfield, which in turn would pick 
up the express at Shrewsbury; and as she succeeded as 
a rule in doing the things upon which she set her mind, 
why here she was. 

The greetings of mother and daughter were affection¬ 
ate, but they were sorry. Both felt that a catastrophe 
had occurred; and it was of such magnitude that they 
were quite stunned by its force. 

“A little American, you say, without any money?” 

Lady Kidderminster quite correctly had the sense 
of what her daughter had said. Those, indeed, were 
her words. “It’s terrible,” said Lady Kidderminster 
piteously. From her point of view it was. 

Both ladies were much inclined to blame themselves; 
and also to blame each other. Lady Kidderminster 


298 


THERE IS A TIDE 


299 


could not help reproaching Violet for turning loose 
such a dangerous creature upon a simple unprotected 
society. In future, perhaps, she would be more careful 
in her choice of friends. Violet retaliated by saying 
that her mother ought never to have let the summer go 
by without simply making Bill marry Gwendolen Child- 
wick. Wretched boy, it was the only marriage he could 
make if he was to keep his head above water! 

However, it was no use repining. There was no 
time for that. Mother and daughter were both people 
of resolution. And they had great common sense. 
Something would have to be done to stop this ruinous 
affair. But, they asked themselves, what? Already 
it had gone much too far. It would be impossible for 
Bill to back out now. 

“Our only chance, my dear,” said Violet slowly and 
forcefully, “and I own it’s a very slender one, is to 
see what can be done with this Miss Du Ranee.” 

“But if she’s as horrid and as pushful as you say, 
she will be the last person in the world to give him up.” 

“Horrid she is not.” Marne’s friend spoke judi¬ 
cially. “Quite a nice little thing in her way. Person¬ 
ally I like her very much, but as a wife for Bill she 
is unthinkable; particularly as she has to earn her own 
living.” 

“All the less likely to give him up.” Lady Kidder¬ 
minster was doleful indeed. 

Still the only hope they had was to act as if that pos¬ 
sibility still remained. 

“It’s so slender that it seems pretty hopeless.” That 


300 


THERE IS A TIDE 


was Lady Violet’s candid opinion. But they must try 
something. The thing was so tragic they could not 
possibly take it lying down. 

They were discussing the catastrophe in all its pain¬ 
ful bearings when Marne blundered into the hornets’ 
nest. She had been walking with Bill in the park; she 
was still feeling very happy if just a little anxious; 
and when she abruptly opened the door and came into 
the drawing room, her thoughts being elsewhere, it 
did not occur to her that she would find Lady Kidder¬ 
minster seated in it. 

Marne knew at a glance who she was. Bill was 
remarkably like his mother. This dame was quite 
handsome, even if her face was a bit worn. She was 
also stately; but as Marne immediately discovered, she 
was accessible, kindly, human. 

She got up as soon as Marne entered. Before Marne 
had time to display embarrassment or shyness the good 
lady offered her hand. And then, as Marne was in the 
act of taking it, Bill’s mother gave her one quick but 
covert glance, which had not a trace of hostility. 

Somewhere amid Marne’s infinite complexity was a 
longing for affection. But already she had steeled her¬ 
self for a display of cattishness. However, there was 
nothing unkind about Bill’s mother, sharp though 
Marne’s instinct was to detect it. There was nothing 
unkind in Lady Violet either. Instinctively Marne 
knew that both these women must be hating her like 
poison and it was almost miraculous how they managed 
to cover up their feelings. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


301 


For five minutes or so Bill’s mother and sister talked 
about him, pleasantly and brightly and entertainingly. 
He was such a dear, dear fellow, his mother said. But 
he was quite irresponsible. Agreeably and rather wit¬ 
tily, she gave anecdotes of Bill’s childhood. She had 
quite a fund of these; and they were told so well, with 
such point and humour that Marne was really amused. 
The prospective daughter-in-law could not help admir¬ 
ing Lady Kidderminster. Her talk had much of Lady 
Violet’s charm, with a Victorian polish and correctness 
in the place of the modern slang whose abundance in 
the daughter old-fashioned people were apt to deplore. 
What the mother lacked in mordancy she made up for 
in kindliness and those manners of the heart which at 
all times are sure of their appeal. 

Marne was quick to respond. She was grateful for 
the way in which this lady, with the most beguiling 
voice she had ever listened to, exercised these gifts for 
her benefit. This meeting might have been so awkward. 
Nay, it might have been downright unpleasant. But 
Bill’s mother carried things off in a style which Marne 
considered to be perfection. 

For one thing Lady K. did not force the note. There 
was no welcoming her into the nest among her chick¬ 
ens. Marne was shrewdly waiting for that, because 
that was where this nice, good, clever dame would 
rather have fallen over the mat. But she was too 
genuine. There was a certain reserve, a certain dignity 
behind all that she said to Marne. Even if there was 
nothing constrained, still less was there anything 


302 


THERE IS A TIDE 


effusive. It was the golden mean. Miss Du Ranee was 
frankly accepted as Bill's affianced, even if she was 
very far from being the particular girl his mother had 
chosen for him. 

“But please, you will promise, will you not, to refrain 
from speaking of this matter to anyone until—until I 
have had an opportunity of discussing it fully with my 
son.” The careful phrases were so urgent that Marne, 
who did not want to give any such promise, felt the 
best she could do was to make it. 

Lady K. thanked her gravely. “And I wonder, my 
dear”—it was the first time the stately dame had 
addressed Marne as “my dear”—“if you feel inclined to 
come down to Shropshire for a few days. It might 
interest you to see the sort of life we lead.” 

Politely Marne was sure that it would. 

“When can you come ?” 

Marne winged a glance to her partner in the news¬ 
paper world. The acceptance of the invitation chiefly 
depended upon the attitude of Celimene. 

“No time like the present, is there?” was that atti¬ 
tude promptly and concisely expressed. 

“But”—Marne's quaint honesty raised a smile in 
both ladies—“ 'tisn’t fair, honey, to leave you here 
alone to do all the digging.” 

“I can plough a lonely furrow for a week at any 
rate. And if I find I can’t I’ll get Gerty Smith to give 
me a hand. You must go back to Shropshire with my 
mother. We both so want to know what you think of 
the Towers.” 


THERE IS A TIDE 


303 


Mame was puzzled by this cordiality. But she was 
very keen to see Warlington Towers, that stately Eng¬ 
lish home which for the future would be hers. There 
was nothing in the manner of mother and daughter to 
suggest that she would not be an immensely welcome 
guest. 

Reassured, almost in spite of herself, by all this seem¬ 
ing friendliness, Mame asked when Lady Kidder¬ 
minster proposed to return to her home. 

“To-morrow, my dear, by the first train. Fm such 
a country mouse; and even one day in London makes 
a hole in one’s purse.” 

“Well, I don’t think I can go to-morrow.” 

“But of course you can.” Lady Violet was definite. 
“And you must. No scrimshanking. You must go 
down with my mother to-morrow morning by the 9150 
from Paddington, the best train of the day.” 

Mame was still inclined to resist having her mind 
made up for her in this way, but Celimene was resolute. 
“My mother will be quite hurt if you back out now. 
Besides’*—with a laugh—“it’ll be so much better to go 
and get it over.” 

“But—” protested Mame. 

However, it was not a bit of use. Lady Violet had 
such a powerful habit of making people’s minds up 
for them. 


XLIV 


T T happened, therefore, that the very next morning 
Mame found herself travelling down to Shropshire 
in the company of Lady Kidderminster. Odd and 
unexpected as the journey was, she was a little inclined 
to be annoyed with herself for having allowed Mommer 
and Lady Violet to hustle her so peremptorily into 
undertaking it. There was weakness in such yielding. 
And to a practical go-getter who knew the value of 
the will, this was not a good sign. The first thing 
she would have to study as the wife of Bill must be the 
art of standing up to her in-laws. 

These were clever women, not a doubt about it. 
Evidently they were versed in the most important of 
all problems, how to get your own way. They had 
force and they had skill had Mommer and Lady Violet; 
they didn’t let you see their hands, but just set quietly 
to work and made you do the things they wanted. She 
was a little simp to let them put one over on her like 
that. 

Still, why worry? There was no reason why she 
should not be seated opposite Mommer in the darned 
old Great Western Pullman. She was real nice was 
Mommer. As easy as pie. All the same her daughter- 
in-law-to-be shrewdly guessed that she was not just 
304 


THERE IS A TIDE 


305 


the simple old shoe that she looked. Even before they 
had reached the first stop, which was Reading, Mame 
had made a private vow that as far as Mommer 
was concerned she would keep her eyes skinned and 
watch out. 

The journey was quite pleasant. All the way from 
Paddington to Shrewsbury, where they left the express 
and took a local train to Millfield, the nearest station 
to Warlington Towers, the lady in whose charge Mame 
found herself persisted steadily in being charming. 
Mame could not help liking her. Seen as it were from 
a distance, Mommer’s stateliness was a little alarming; 
but at close range, in friendly and intimate talk all 
fear of it seemed to go. 

There were no surprises. Everything went agree¬ 
ably and well. It was when they got off the train 
finally at Millfield that the surprises began. There was 
a five-mile drive to the Towers, as Mame had been 
told; and she had rather confidently expected it to be 
performed in an elegant motor, with two servants. 
But nothing of the kind. In the Millfield station yard 
a one-horse brougham awaited them. It was decidedly 
well kept, but it looked out of date; and although the 
coachman wore a smart cockade and had the face of an 
ancestral portrait, no brisk footman shared the seat 
by his side. 

An obsequious porter and a rural station master, who 
was even more obsequious, ushered them into the broug¬ 
ham’s rather stuffy interior. It was plain from the 
manner of these officials that even if Mommer did cling 


THERE IS A TIDE 


306 

to the old modes of travel she was a power in this 
corner of the land. Still Mame continued to be a bit 
surprised by the one-horse brougham. Yet this was no 
more than a prelude to the far bigger surprise that was 
in store. 

After the elderly horse had clip-clopped along the 
dusty by-roads for some little time, Mame caught a 
sudden glimpse of a noble set of towers “bosomed 
high in tufted trees” as a poetic john had expressed it 
in the office calendar. There was also a fine park full 
of deer with high stone walls around it. 

“Warlington Towers, I guess.’* There was a thrill 
in Marne’s voice as she pointed enthusiastically through 
the carriage window. 

Lady Kidderminster said “yes.” The note in her 
voice sounded the reverse of enthusiastic. 

At that moment they came upon some beautiful 
wrought iron gates with an ancient coat of arms in the 
middle, flanked by a pair of stone pillars, each with a 
fabulous winged monster upon the top. Beyond the 
gates was a porter’s lodge and then a vista of glorious 
trees in the form of a long avenue which led straight 
to the doors of the famous mansion. 

“It’s just too lovely.” Mame clapped her hands. 

She quite expected the one-horse brougham to stop 
at those magnificent gates, all picked out in black and 
gold, and turn into that wonderful avenue. But it did 
nothing of the kind. It went on and on by the side of 
the high stone walls which shut out the view of the 
Towers completely. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


307 

“Don’t you live there?” Mame was a little puzzled 
and perhaps a shade anxious. 

Lady Kidderminster sighed gently. “We don’t live 
there now, my dear.” 

“Oh,” breathed Mame. Somehow she felt rather 
let down. 

The old horse clip-clopped along by the grassy marge 
of the interminable and forbidding stone walls until 
they reached a tiny village. In the middle was a neat 
public house, with a roof of straw thatch, and its an¬ 
cient sign the Treherne Arms much stained by the 
weather. Past this the brougham went, a couple of 
hundred yards or so, and then turned in on the left, 
through a swing gate and along a carriage drive. 

At the end of the drive was a house built of stone. 
It was a good, honest-looking place and by its style 
was old. But compared with the pomp and glory of 
the Towers it was quite small. Nay, as Mame was 
forced to view it, this house was a trifle poor. Here 
the brougham stopped. It was the end of their journey. 

The place which Lady Kidderminster had occupied 
for the last five years was called the Dower House. It 
was comfortable enough and everything in it was in 
such perfect taste that it was only Marne’s lively antici¬ 
pation of the Towers and their magnificence which lent 
it an aura of inferiority. Really the Dower House 
was charming. It had the loveliest things. There was 
a view of distant hills from its bedroom windows; and 
at the back of the house was an old-world garden, a 
rare pleasaunce of plants and shrubs and very ancient 


THERE IS A TIDE 


308 

trees. If the Towers had not caught Marne’s imagina¬ 
tion she would have considered the Dower House just 
elegant. 

At dinner, which was at eight o’clock, and to Marne’s 
robust appetite was a meal at once meagre and inade¬ 
quate, there was only one other besides the hostess. 
This was a Miss Carruthers, a young-old body, tall and 
faded and thin, who spoke in a slow, rather peeved 
voice which sounded frightfully aristocratic. She 
seemed kindly and well meaning, but she was dull, ter¬ 
ribly dull. Even Lady Kidderminster seemed inclined 
to yield to the atmosphere of Miss Carruthers. Any¬ 
how, by dinner time, a good deal of her metropolitan 
sparkle had fled. 

Marne hoped, as she swallowed the thin soup and the 
minute portions of fish and chicken the regular old john 
of a butler, with wonderful manners and side whiskers, 
handed to her at carefully regulated intervals, that the 
absence of sparkle was only going to be temporary. 
But there was nothing on the table stronger than lemon¬ 
ade to excite it. And zip of some kind was certainly 
needed. However, it was not forthcoming at the table 
or in the drawing room afterwards, where no fire was 
in the rather cavernous grate, although mid-September 
evenings in Shropshire are apt to be chill. 

There was neither electricity nor gas throughout 
the house, and when Marne, following the example of 
the other ladies, chose a candle from among a number 
laid out on a table in the hall, and ascended solemnly 
to her bed, she felt desolate. Somehow things were not 


THERE IS A TIDE 


309 


as she had expected to find them. Just what those 
expectations had been she was unable to say. But they 
had certainly included the Towers. 

All the same she slept. She was young and healthy 
and the pulse of life beat high. And she had a forward- 
looking mind. But in the present case the habitual 
hope of a morrow more alluring came to nought. The 
Dower House did not seem to improve on acquaintance. 
It was dull. No use mincing it—it was dull. Lady 
Kidderminster continued to be kindness itself; Miss 
Carruthers was also kind; but they seemed only to 
converse on formal subjects and in a rather perfunc¬ 
tory way. Then the food! It was beautifully cooked 
and served, and what there was of it was of the best 
quality, yet in Miss Du Ranee it left a void. 

A factor in their dulness, no doubt, was the absence 
of Lady Kidderminster’s family. Violet, of course, 
was in London; and of the two young ones, Doris was 
in her first year at Cambridge and Marjorie at school at 
Worthing. “When those two pickles come here for 
the holidays we are much more lively, aren’t we, 
Mildred?” 

Mildred, Miss Carruthers, who agreed with Lady 
Kidderminster in most things, agreed in this. 

After a rather dispiriting breakfast in which Marne 
had to be content with a boiled egg, some poor coffee, 
some thin toast and an elegant spoonful of jam, she 
took the air of the domain with Miss Carruthers. Like 
everything else about the place, the air of the domain 
was good in quality, yet it did not seem to be exhila- 


3io 


THERE IS A TIDE 


rating. Marne felt inclined to fix some of the respon¬ 
sibility upon Miss Carruthers. She was as good as 
gold, but she wanted pep. 

In the course of this ordeal in the garden, Marne’s 
great disappointment once more recurred. She could 
not forget the Towers; their absence filled her with a 
sense of grievance. 

“Why don’t Lady K. live at the big house?’’ She 
put the question frankly. “Some place that. I guess 
I’d want to live there if I owned it.” 

Miss Carruthers hesitated a moment and then said 
in that plaintive voice which already was beginning to 
get on Marne’s nerves. “Cousin Lucy can’t afford 
to do that. She’s been so hit by the War. The Towers 
eats money. One has to be rich to keep up a place of 
that kind.” 

“She isn’t rich, then?” 

“Dear, no.” 

“What’ll she do with that old place?” There was 
keen disappointment in Marne’s tone. 

“Cousin Lucy, I believe, has not decided yet. At 
present the Towers is let to some rich Americans.” 

“Any I know?” asked Marne. From her manner it 
might have been a hobby of hers to specialise in rich 
Americans. It would do this dame no harm to think 
so anyway. 

The slow, plaintive answer of Miss Caruthers was 
unexpected and it was startling. “You may know 
them. I believe they go about in London a good deal. 
Some people called Childwick.” 


THERE IS A TIDE 311 

“Childwick.” Mame gave a slight gasp. “Have 
they a girl named Gwendolen ?” Yet there was no 
need to ask. She knew. 

So plaintive grew the voice of Miss Carruthers that 
Mame longed to shake her. “Gwendolen is their only 
child. A great heiress.” 

Mame felt something turn inside her heart. She bit 
her lip; and then she gave a little snort of defiance. 
Miss Carruthers sighed long and grievously. 


XLV 


HE knowledge which came in its fulness to Mame 



in an after-luncheon talk with Lady Kiddermin¬ 
ster, that the Towers was let to the Childwicks on a 
lease of seven years with an option of purchase, did 
nothing to stem the growing tide of her gloom. She 
might have guessed. But the recognised fact hit her 
hard. The Childwicks of all people! That supercilious 
queen to get away with the whole bag of tricks. 

Lady K. was quite candid. She had the same open¬ 
ness in discussing high finance as in less intimate affairs 
of life. Since the War they had simply been hanging 
on by their eyelids as it were. The Scotch property 
had gone; so had the property in Lancashire; the town 
house was let, also to the Childwicks, those providential 
folk, who had lately decided to make England their 
home. Everybody thought it so fortunate to have such 
good tenants for the Towers; people who could not only 
afford to keep up the place in the old way, but who were 
likely to take a permanent interest in it. 

Miss Du Ranee was constrained to think so too. As 
she peered into the eyes of Bill’s mother she could not 
help admiring her fortitude. How this dame must 
loathe her, little interloper! What plans she had 
wrecked! Yet there was nothing about this woman, 


THERE IS A TIDE 


313 

and there never had been, to give the least inkling of 
what her real feelings were towards her. 

Not once, it was true, since Marne’s arrival at the 
Dower House, had Lady Kidderminster mentioned Bill. 
The other queer old pet, that Miss Carruthers, had also 
refrained from mentioning him. Otherwise all was 
ease and charm and friendliness, although it sure had 
a trick of fizzling into the dead alive. 

This quality of not being quite on the earth, so to 
speak, was not confined to the inmates of the Dower 
House. It was shared by the friends and neighbours. 
Screams of all kinds seemed to make a point of turning 
up about teatime. Almost invariably they were of 
Marne’s own sex. And such clothes as they wore! And 
such comic one-horse shays as for the most part they 
came in! Frightfully well-bred they were with real 
Court manners, full of ceremonial. Had good Lady 
K. been England’s queen these dear old buzzards could 
not have treated her with more deference. 

It was the air these callers had of being half alive 
that most impressed Marne. Her mind went back to 
the tabbies of Fotheringay House, at whose hands she 
had endured long weeks of boredom. These friends of 
the family were a different breed of tabby; they were 
politer, gentler, less inclined to scratch, but their faces 
were just as pinched and bloodless and their style of 
dressing quite as odd. Such drolls as they were with 
their long tailor-mades and stiff boned net collars, and 
their queer hats and trinkets and stout boots with very 
flat heels. 


314 


THERE IS A TIDE 


They looked depressing. And they were depressing. 
Their talk in the main was of bulbs. Mame was not 
in the least interested in bulbs. She could raise no 
enthusiasm over what these funniments were going to 
put in in the spring. These gardeners, inoffensive and 
well meaning though they were, bored Mame to tears. 
If this was the social life of an English county, she 
opined she was the sort of mouse that would stay in 
the town. 

Three days of the Dower House began to tell on 
Miss Du Ranee. It may have been the food, the people, 
a peculiarity of the air, but she began to feel as lacking 
in zip as the friends and neighbours. At the mere sight 
of them she had an inclination to weep; and strange to 
say at the sight of her one or two of these old things, 
who evidently were pretty deep in the family confidence, 
seemed inclined to do the same. One old pet, indeed, 
with just a shade more kick than the rest—Miss Car- 
ruthers said she had been a Bedchamber-woman to 
Queen Victoria—managed to convey a hint to Miss 
Du Ranee that the friends and neighbours could only 
regard her in the light of a national calamity. 

All this was discouraging. Even had there been no 
thoughts of Gwendolen Childwick to disturb Mame 
o’nights, this visit to Bill’s mother would hardly have 
been a bed of roses. She missed sadly the brisk life, 
the gay companionship of London. Here was nothing 
doing. From early morn till dewy eve there was noth¬ 
ing doing. She dipped into a few old-fashioned novels; 
she read the Morning Post , which was not delivered un- 


THERE IS A TIDE 


315 


til the afternoon; she was initiated into various games 
of patience by the kindly but mournful Miss Carruth- 
ers; she strolled about the garden with Lady Kidder¬ 
minster and learned to give an opinion on the few 
remaining asters, chrysanthemums and dahlias, but 
somehow you could not call it being alive. 

By now, moreover, there was beginning to arise in 
Marne a feeling of remorse. It was not an emotion she 
would ever have suspected herself of harbouring. 
Practical go-getters have not, as a rule, much time for 
remorse. They are usually too busy. Besides, where 
was the use? Remorse never cut ice since the world 
began. 

To make matters worse, on the morning of the fifth 
day came a letter from Bill. He wrote with far less 
than his usual optimism. In fact he was just a bit 
troubled. He had been talking things over with his 
mother, whom he had seen when she came up to town; 
and she had said the family finances were in such a 
tangle that if he married Marne there would be abso¬ 
lutely no money for a separate establishment. She took 
rather a gloomy view of the whole matter, but person¬ 
ally, he was quite willing “to chance it” if Marne was. 
He sent her heaps of love and he was counting the 
hours for her return and he thought that in the 
circumstances the sooner they were “spliced” the 
better. 

The letter was full of affection and humour, yet 
Marne could not rid her mind of the feeling that break¬ 
ers were ahead. She was perturbed. And something 


THERE IS A TIDE 


316 

which happened in the course of that very afternoon 
deepened a sense of unrest. 

“Do you care to come and see the Towers, my 
dear?” asked Lady Kidderminster, as they lingered 
over their afternoon luncheon coffee. “The Childwicks 
are away, but I’m sure the housekeeper, Mrs. Norris, 
will not mind your looking over the house if it will 
interest you.” 

Nothing would interest Marne more. 

“So glad. We will go along presently. It is such 
a good day for a walk.’’ 

The day was really good, one of those soft, mildly 
sunny days of late September that lure one so genially 
into the open. From the Dower House to the Towers, 
door to door, was just a mile; and Marne, sauntering 
with Lady Kidderminster, found the pilgrimage rather 
enjoyable. Her hostess was still very kind and friendly 
even if an inward weight seemed to be bearing her 
down. Marne longed to speak of Bill. She would like 
to have drawn Mommer on the subject of when they 
would be able to marry; yet to butt in upon that 
vexed question might entirely spoil the pleasure of 
their stroll. 

Marne was impressed by the Towers. She felt justi¬ 
fied in calling it a palace. It certainly was a wonderful 
house; one of the oldest and finest in England and very 
well kept. A lovely park of many rich woodland acres 
gave it just the setting that it needed. In spite of 
Marne's determination to remain a democrat at heart, 
she could not overcome a slight feeling of awe as they 


THERE IS A TIDE 


317 


passed through the lodge gates, so impressively emblaz¬ 
oned, and walked slowly along the glorious avenue that 
led to the Treherne home. The place had such an air. 
Fancy having it for one’s very own to live in. 

She was entitled, in a sense, to a feeling of proprie¬ 
torship, yet only too well did she know that she did not 
in the least match up with Warlington Towers. After 
all, she could not help thinking ruefully as they came 
up to the main entrance, with doors of solid black oak, 
she was the merest nobody, a little newspaper girl, a 
sharp-witted adventuress who had not even put herself 
through college. Who was Marne Durrance, the re¬ 
jected of New York and London, that she should fix 
herself into such a frame. It was wrong for a go-getter 
to have these ideas, but there was something in the 
grandeur, the style, the solidity of this mansion which 
had stood just like that since the time of the Tudors, 
which kind of put one over on you. If you had any 
feelings at all, if you had a streak of imagination, how¬ 
ever slight, a vein of idealism, however weak, a ten¬ 
dency to uplift or inconveniences of that kind, this 
house was bound to get you thinking. 

They learned from the housekeeper that the Child- 
wicks were expected next week, when a large party 
would assemble for the shooting. But Marne was not 
much impressed by the news. That girl Gwendolen, 
for all her dollars and her airs, was almost as much 
an interloper. What was Three Ply Flannelette any¬ 
way? Not so much better, was it, than writing for the 
press ? 


3i8 


THERE IS A TIDE 


Bitter thoughts accompanied Mame through the 
nobly proportioned rooms, up the majestic staircase and 
then down again to the noblest room of all. It seemed 
vast, that particular room; the sense of its magnitude 
came out and hit you as you entered. The view from 
its great windows was unforgettable, but it was the 
room itself and the things it contained that made it so 
memorable. Tapestries, sofas, cabinets, chairs, tables, 
lovely bric-a-brac and candelabra, all were perfect in 
their kind and united in ministry to the higher perfec¬ 
tion of which they formed a part. 

It was the pictures on the walls that gave perhaps the 
biggest thrill. Portraits mostly: Lelys, Knellers and 
those old johns of the eighteenth century who knew 
how to put historical folks upon canvas. Among the 
famous guys in steel breastplates and periwigs and 
contemporary janes in ruffs and powder and what not, 
was a picture of a young man in knee-breeches and silk 
stockings and a stiff flounced coat with a sword, who 
might have been Bill. The resemblance was astonish¬ 
ing. Had Bill exchanged his modern tailor for that 
funny yet superbly picturesque rig that is just how he 
would have looked. 

Mame was so struck by this likeness that she stopped 
to gaze at the words at the foot of the gilt frame: 

“William, third marquis of Kidderminster. By Sir 
Peter Lely.” 

Yes, it was the real thing, this picture. But what, 
after all, was it compared to the room it was in and the 
harmony of which it was a symbol? History, romance, 


THERE IS A TIDE 


3i9 

power seemed all around. Again the spirit of place 
got Mame thinking. 

It was the gentle, low voice of Lady Kidderminster 
that brought her slowly back to the present and to her 
own self. “Shall we rest a moment, my dear? Here 
in the sun. This is always my favourite spot; how one 
loves a room facing south! There is more real warmth 
here than anywhere else in the house.” 

As Lady Kidderminster spoke she sat down on a 
large, high-backed sofa, very choicely carved, which 
was placed immediately below Lely’s third marquis. 
She made a place beside her for Mame, who sat down 
too. There the sun was very pleasant, as it streamed 
in through the great window opposite. The trees of 
the park could be seen and the deer browsing under 
them. Not so much as the ticking of a clock broke the 
rapt stillness. What a peace there was upon every¬ 
thing, what order, what a hushed solemnity! It was 
like being in a cathedral. The aura of this room in its 
grandeur and stateliness was overpowering. 

Mame was seldom at a loss for words. But seated 
on this sofa by the side of Lady Kidderminster she felt 
a little shy of the sound of her own voice. Somehow 
it didn’t seem to belong. She waited for her compan¬ 
ion to say something. Those sweet and quiet tones 
went so much better with the carpets and the pictures 
and the scene beyond those windows. 

Suddenly Mame grew aware that the hand next hers 
had taken it in its clasp. Then very softly and quietly 
Bill’s mother began to talk. Her beautiful low voice in 


320 


THERE IS A TIDE 


its ordered perfection was as much a part of those 
surroundings as all the other lovely things of which 
Mame could not help being sensible. Yet the words it 
wove soon began to press upon her heart. 

In a fashion of curious simplicity, which revealed 
everything in the most practical and matter-of-fact way, 
Bill’s mother showed what an effort she had made to 
hold on to this inheritance. Everybody had hoped that 
he would marry Miss Childwick. She was deeply in 
love with him, and there was a time, only a short month 
or so ago, when it was thought that he was in love with 
her. A marriage had been almost arranged for the 
early summer, yet for some trivial reason it had been 
deferred. And now, and now, the gentle tones deep¬ 
ened into tragedy, it would never take place, and Bill 
would have to give up the last and dearest of his pos¬ 
sessions. 

Great sacrifices had been made to keep things going 
against the time when he should marry. They owed it 
to him to do that. And he, dear fellow, owed it, not 
to those who were proud to make sacrifices, but to the 
order of things, so long established, of which he was 
the clou, to marry in a direction that would ensure their 
maintenance. 

“You see, my dear,” said Lady Kidderminster, and 
for the first time a faint gleam of humour lit that lovely 
voice of ever-deepening tragedy, “it is not that we own 
places like the Towers. They own us. It is Bill’s duty 
to those who have made this old house what it is”— 
she waved a gentle hand to those solemn assenting walls 


THERE IS A TIDE 


3 21 


“to keep it in the state to which it has pleased provi¬ 
dence to call it. I hope you appreciate, my dear, what 
a dreadful wrench it is going to be, not only for us, 
but for this old house, with so many historical associa¬ 
tions, to pass into other hands.” 

Only too well was Marne able to appreciate that. The 
streak of imagination in her had never been so uncom¬ 
fortable as at that painful moment. 

“I simply cannot bear to think of his losing all this,” 
Bill’s mother went on. “I simply cannot bear to think 
of all this losing him. They need each other; they 
were created for each other; they can never be as they 
were if they are allowed to drift apart. The Child- 
wicks are excellent people and they have a lien on this 
house, which may be exercised if dear Gwendolen does 
not marry Bill. They will, I am sure, do the place no 
dishonour, but I, for one, cannot bear to think of such 
a break in a long tradition. The Towers expects the 
head of the family to do his duty by it, in the way of his 
forbears who made it the thing it is.” 

Marne did not speak. Not only was she seeing cer¬ 
tain things at a new angle, she was also seeing the world 
in general in a new way. The process was distinctly 
irksome. 

“Any girl who really cares for him,” Lady K. went 
on with that candour which to Marne was so surprising, 
“will understand what life exacts of him, will under¬ 
stand where his duty lies.” 

In the silence that followed these words Marne hardly 
ventured to look at the face of the woman who sat by 


322 


THERE IS A TIDE 


her side. But she saw that Lady Kidderminster’s eyes 
were wet. This was a brave woman. It was impos¬ 
sible not to respect her point of view. Indeed, seated 
in that room, with all those associations clustering 
about it, there seemed to be only one way of looking 
at things. And that was the way of Bill’s mother. 


XL VI 


TV/T AME returned to London after an absence of 
-*-*-*■ exactly one week. Seldom had she been more 
eager for anything than to exchange the rather dreary 
stuffiness of the Dower House for the life and bustle 
of the town. Yet the Marne Durrance who had left 
Paddington a week ago was not the same person who 
came back to that terminus. Something had happened 
to her in the meantime. As yet she did not quite know 
what the something was. But there were the begin¬ 
nings of a new habit of introspection in her; and from 
this she learned that she was in the throes of change. 

Life, somehow, was not quite as she had left it. She 
seemed to see it with new eyes. Even the buses and 
the taxis and the faces of the passers-by were different 
from what they had been a week ago. They seemed to 
strike her in a new way. It was as if the rather trite 
and funny old world she had always lived in had be¬ 
come suddenly enlarged. Everything had grown more 
complex. The inner nature of things, about which she 
was troubling for the first time, was full of deep and 
mysterious meaning. 

This state of mind did not make for happiness, as 
Marne soon discovered. For one thing it was out of 
harmony with the mentality of a practical go-getter. 
323 


3 2 4 


THERE IS A TIDE 


But as she expressed the phenomenon to herself, that 
old house had put one over on her. It was absurd 
that a mere inanimate collection of sticks and stones 
should have the power to do anything of the kind, yet 
it was not a bit of use shirking the fact that it had 
done so. 

There were two Marne Durrances now. Perhaps 
there always had been, but the one the old house in 
Shropshire had evoked had lain dormant. And now 
that it was aroused it promised to become a mighty in¬ 
convenient yoke fellow. Hitherto it had been the 
go-getter who had held command of the ship; a com¬ 
mon-sensible, up-and-coming, two-and-two-makes-four 
sort of unit, who saw its duty a dead sure thing and 
went and did it. But the sleeper, whom one week of 
Shropshire had awakened, was a very different kind 
of bird. 

No doubt, the new and tiresome entity that had 
sprung to birth was what the world meant by an ideal¬ 
ist. It appeared to judge by another standard. There 
were the things you could do and the things you 
couldn’t do. The business part of Marne knew noth¬ 
ing of this. It only did the things it wanted to do. 

A week of the Dower House had rather handed a 
haymaker to Marne’s utilitarian world. To such an 
extent had it mixed its values that she did not quite 
know where she stood in it. Yet amid the chaos she 
retained in a high degree her natural clearness of vision. 

It was nearing the dinner hour when Marne’s taxi 
deposited her and her neat luggage at 16b Half Moon 


THERE IS A TIDE 


325 


Street. Lady Violet, wearing her smartest evening 
frock, was on the point of going out. She greeted 
Mame with the air of bright cheerfulness that never 
seemed to desert her. But the returned traveller had 
only to glance at the eyes of her friend to learn that 
she was not feeling so very bright or so very cheerful. 
She surprised that look of never-say-die she had seen 
in the eyes of Lady Kidderminster. It was impossible 
not to respect the pluck of these women. 

“Had a good time ?” 

“Ye-es.” Marne’s answer was a trifle dubious even 
if she did her best not to make it so. 

“What did you think of the Towers?” 

“Bully!” said Mame. And then she asked, less out 
of a sense of duty than from a desire to change the 
subject, “How’s the work been getting on?” 

“Gerty Smith is splendid. She’s such a worker.’’ 
Lady Violet sighed humorously. “Oh, how I hate 
work!” 

Mame fully believed her. Girls of her special type 
must long ago have overlaid the habit. The conviction 
in Celimene’s voice did not lessen Marne’s respect for 
her. She had real grit, this girl, to be able to buckle 
to in the way she did. 

“There’s a letter for you from New York.” Lady 
Violet pointed to the table. “I hope there’s no com¬ 
plaint of the firm. We’ve not been sending many 
bonnes bouches in the way of news lately.” 

“No, we haven’t,” agreed Mame, as she opened the 
letter. It merely contained the monthly cheque. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


326 

“That’ll come in very useful.” 

“I’ll say yes, honey,” was Marne’s comment to her¬ 
self. 

Lady Violet then went off. She was dining with 
the Chi Id wicks and going on with them to Covent 
Garden to the Russian ballet, and so did not expect to 
be home till rather late. Marne was left to a lonely 
meal round the comer at the Ladies Imperium. She 
had made a certain number of friends there, but she 
was not in a mood for promiscuous conversation; there¬ 
fore she returned to an early bed. 

She was very tired, bodily and mentally, but she had 
a restless and wakeful night. The go-getter and the 
idealist seemed to be quarrelling like fury all through 
the small hours. If there just wasn’t the money to 
keep things going and she really cared for Bill, wasn’t 
it her duty to stand aside ? 

Never heard such bunkum in my life, said the Go- 
getter. 

Depends on how much you care for the boy, said the 
Idealist. 

The Go-getter snorted. 

You may snort, said the Idealist. But that’s the 
case as I see it. 


XLVII 


/ T V HEY had arranged to meet in the park, the next 
morning at eleven. Bill was at the tryst, looking 
a picture of health with the genial sun of St. Martin’s 
summer upon him. He really was good to gaze at; 
most girls would have thought so, anyway. There he 
was in his smart morning suit; bright as a new pin; 
and as gaily amusing as ever. He might not have had 
a care in the world. Indeed, as he greeted Marne with 
a flourish of hat and cane, it was hard to believe that 
he could have. 

A week’s absence had, if anything, endeared them to 
each other. Marne felt immensely proud of Bill as 
she came upon him by the railings of the Row, where 
he stood watching its numerous and decidedly miscel¬ 
laneous collection of riders. Yes, he was a picture. 
As Marne beheld him, her mind went rather inconven¬ 
iently back to the portrait of the third marquis, under 
which she had sat in that wonderful room at the 
Towers. 

“Good to see you, Puss.” 

Low the voice and so beguiling. There was a tre¬ 
mendous fascination in this young man. They moved 
up towards Alexandra Gate and found two lonely 
chairs among the trees. 

32f 


THERE IS A TIDE 


328 

“And now for a good old pow wow.” He began 
to write her name on the grass with the tip of his cane. 
“You’re looking just a wee bit chippy, aren’t you ? Air 
of Shropshire take some digesting, eh? My mother is 
a clinker, isn’t she? And Cousin Mildred. But 
their young lives are not exactly a beanfeast, what? 
And then the friends and neighbours. Did you meet 
the friends and neighbours?” 

“Bushels.” 

At the look on Marne’s shrewd and piquant counte¬ 
nance Bill cried “What ho!” in a fashion which startled 
a number of sparrows into sitting up and taking 
notice. “Then that funny old Dower House. I ex¬ 
pect it rather gave you the pip.” 

As a matter of fact the Dower House had rather 
given Marne the pip but it hardly seemed good manners 
to say so. 

“Own up. Honest Injun.” Bill coolly surveyed the 
expressive countenance of Marne. “It always does me. 
But tell me, now, what do you think of the Towers? 
That’s a bit of a landmark, isn’t it?” 

“Bully!” was Marne’s formula for the Towers. It 
didn’t quite express her feelings, but it seemed wise 
to keep to that inclusive simplicity. 

“That’s the word,” Bill agreed. 

Suddenly Marne took him up. “Bully isn’t at all 
the word for a place like the Towers.” To her own 
ear her voice grew harsh and strident. “It wants a 
better word than that. Doesn’t carry the meaning, 


THERE IS A TIDE 


329 

that word. There’s an atmosphere about that place and 
it gets you.” 

“Hadn’t occurred to me.” 

“No.” Marne looked at him sideways. She was a 
shade incredulous. “If I owned all that, just by right 
of birth, I’d see that nobody ever took it from me.” 

“Rather depend on your bank-book, wouldn’t it?” 
Somehow Bill’s casualness was almost like a blow. 
“You see the trouble with us as a family is that we 
haven’t a bob.” 

Marne was fully informed of that. But why not get 
around and collect a few ? She put the question frankly. 
To Bill, however, it had the merit of being new. It 
had simply never occurred to him. 

“Why not?” In Marne’s voice was a certain stern¬ 
ness. 

“Haven’t the savvee for one thing.” Bill spoke 
lightly and easily. “Enormous brains you must have 
these days to hustle around. Vi is the only one of us 
with any mind at all. If she had been a man I believe 
she might have kept the Towers going. But it would 
have needed doing, you know. That place swallows 
money. Not a penny less than ten thousand a year 
would have been a bit of use.” 

“I’ll say not. But isn’t it worth while, don’t you 
think, to take off your coat and go around and see if 
you can raise it?” 

Bill began to whistle merrily. His sense of humour 
was sharply touched. “See me raising ten thousand a 
year with this old think box. I’m the utterest ass that 


THERE IS A TIDE 


330 

ever happened. Why, I can’t even tot up a row of fig¬ 
ures.” 

“I guess Ed learn. If my folks had had the Towers 
for five hundred years, do you suppose I’d let people 
like the Childwicks come along and take it off me ?” 

“No, I guess you wouldn’t.” Bill gazed in admira¬ 
tion at the determined face. 

“Well, what are you going to do about it?” 

To that forcible question Bill seemed quite unable 
to find an answer. Marne did not disguise that an 
answer was called for. “Your Mommer says that if 
you marry me you’ll have to quit the Pinks.” 

“I know she does.” 

“And that you’ll lose the Towers.” 

Bill owned ruefully that he knew that too. 

“Doesn’t it worry you any?” 

Bill was silent a moment, then shook his head and 
said cheerfully, no. 

“Well, it worries me, I’ll tell the world.” 

He frowned a little. Something in the nature of a 
cloud passed over his sunny mind. Marne this morn¬ 
ing hardly seemed to be quite so entertaining as usual. 
“Why worry,” he said, “over things one can’t help?” 

It was Marne’s turn to be silent. The frown that 
gathered about her honest face was more portentous 
than the one upon Bill’s. “Things have got to be helped, 
it seems to me.” She spoke slowly. It was as if the 
words tore her lips. 

“I don’t quite see how at the moment.” 

“There’s just one way. I’ve been thinking it out. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


331 

We mustn’t marry.” The serious depth of Marne’s 
tone added detonating power to this thunderbolt. 

“But that’s ridiculous.” Bill was no longer casual. 

“As I figure it out, it’ll be more ridiculous if we do.” 

“My dear girl, we shall be able to rub along. There’ll 
be a certain amount of money, even if the Towers does 
go and even if I have to leave the Army.” 

Marne shook a stern little head. She certainly was 
not as amusing this morning as usual. “Not if you 
keep your engagement with Gwendolen Childwick.” 

“I’ve never been engaged to Gwendolen Childwick,” 
he indignantly broke in. 

“Vi says you were as good as engaged to her. And 
so does your mother.” 

“These meddlesome women!” Bill spoke vexedly. 
“I see what it is. You’ve been letting ’em put the 
wind up.” 

A flush of crimson showed this to be a palpable hit. 

“I give you my word there’s been no engagement 
between Gwendolen and me,” Bill earnestly added. 

She knew there had not been. But it did not alter 
her view that if he was as sensible as he ought to be, 
there would be an engagement between them soon. 

“Somebody’s been getting at you.” He was rather 
startled by the turn affairs were taking. “You’re not 
yourself this morning. Tell me, Puss, don’t you care 
for me any more?” 

He looked into her troubled face with an anxiety 
which made her feel that she wanted to cry. In fact 
she had to bite her lip pretty hard to save herself from 


33 2 


THERE IS A TIDE 


exposing a most regrettable weakness. “It’s because I 
care for you so much that I can’t let you make a fool 
of yourself. ,, The quaint voice trembled oddly. “If 
you marry me it’s ruin and—and that’s all there is 
to it.” 

He took a little white-gloved paw—she was looking 
most charmingly spick and span this morning—into his 
great brown fist. “Rot! A promise is a promise. I 
won’t give you up.” 

“Don’t be a fool.” Pain, sheer and exquisite, drove 
her to speak bluntly and harshly. “I’d be a cuckoo in 
the nest. I don’t belong. I won’t amuse you always. 
And then you’d be sorry about the Towers. And you’d 
curse yourself for quitting the Army.” 

“I’ll risk all that.” 

Marne had a struggle to keep her lip stiff. But she 
had enough will to say, “There’s other folks to think 
of, you see.” 

“Rot! Why let ’em come spoiling the sport?” 

“I’d be spoiling the sport. You and Gwendolen were 
getting on like a house on fire till I came by.” 

“What’s come over you!” This was pure Quixo¬ 
tism. Slow in the uptake as he was, he knew how she 
hated Gwendolen. 

“You don’t know what a friend Vi has been to 
me. I owe just everything to her. If I butted in and 
spoiled it all, I’d never be able to look her in the face 
again. Then there’s your Mommer. She’s been so 
sweet to me, I’d just hate to go back on her.” 

Bill had to own that such feelings did Marne real 


THERE IS A TIDE 


333 

credit. But her attitude seemed to puzzle him a good- 
ish bit; it was rather beyond the order of nature. 

“You’re the nicest and best little girl I’ve met.” He 
was dogged, defiant. “And I mean to hold on to you 
for all I’m worth.” 

Marne was horribly near tears, yet she still contrived 
to keep them in check. It was the bitterest moment life 
so far had given her. But this thing had to be. 


XLVIII 


FTER a painful hour they parted and went their 



^ ways. Bill, in dudgeon, back to barracks; Mame 
with a heartache to Half Moon Street. All the way up 
Piccadilly she was accompanied by two voices. Mame 
Durrance you are a blame fool, said one. Stick it, 
girl, said the other. You are throwing away the 
chance of your life, said the Go-getter. If you really 
care for the boy, you just can’t marry him, said the 
Idealist. 

Never had she felt so miserable as when she let her¬ 
self into the flat. Luckily Violet was not there. She 
was able to relieve her overwrought feelings with a lit¬ 
tle private howl. Then she felt better. In fact she was 
able to sit down and compose a few halting lines to 
Bill embodying her final decision and giving her rea¬ 
sons for it. That achieved, she went to her bedroom 
and fetched the engagement ring which ten days ago 
had given her such joy. 

I must have been cuckoo to have accepted it. 

Not half so cuckoo as you are now, you silly elf. 

Miserably she packed it in its neat box and was in 
the act of enclosing the farewell letter when Violet 
came in. She had been taking the air. 

One glance Violet gave to the red and swollen lids 


334 


THERE IS A TIDE 


335 


and the face of tragedy. “Why, my dear, dear child!” 
The vein of kindness in her was deep and true. Those 
piteous eyes, that piteous mouth very surely roused it. 
“Do tell me.” A naughty, dangerous little witch, but 
she was genuinely distressed to see Marne suffer. 
Something must have hurt her rather horribly. “Tell 
me, what is it?” 

“Eve let some of you folks put one over on me.” 
Marne fiercely brushed aside new tears. 

It was not a moment for a smile. Yet it was hard 
to resist one at that whimsical and quaint defiance. 
Even in the hour of desolation the minx was like no 
one else. She had an odd power of attraction. It was 
by no means easy to dislike her. After all she had only 
acted in strict accordance with her nature. 

“What is it? Tell me.” 

Marne suddenly handed Celimene the letter she had 
written. 

“You—you are sending back the ring?” There was 
a note in the voice of Bill’s sister which suggested that 
it feared to be other than incredulous. “You—you 
are breaking off the engagement?” 

“I’ll say yes.” 

Perhaps for the first time in their intercourse real 
emotion flooded the face of the more accomplished 
woman of the world. “Dear child!” she said softly. 
And then abruptly turning aside as the bleak face of 
Marne became more than she could bear, “You—you 
make one feel indescribably mean.” 

It was perfectly true. She undoubtedly did, the lit- 


THERE IS A TIDE 


336 

tie go-getter. Under all the surface crudity, which 
month by month was ceasing to be anything like as 
crude as it had been, was something big, vital, true. 

Lady Violet was not given to self-depreciation. She 
knew her power of displacement only too well, even in 
the queer muss of a modern world. She might have 
been tempted to laugh at this rather pathetic thing; she 
might have played her off successfully against certain 
pretentious people, yet somehow the minx was riding 
off with all the honours. Marne already had taught her 
a pretty sharp lesson. It was one she would never for¬ 
get. Lady Violet for the future would always remem¬ 
ber that the player of unlawful games must keep an 
eye on the policeman. And now Marne was teaching 
her something else. 

Seldom had this woman of the world found herself 
quite so much at a loss. Face to face with Marne’s 
heroism, for her self-sacrifice amounted to that, mere 
words became an impertinence. The thing to strike 
her about this good child when she set eyes on her first 
was the extraordinary grit that was in her; and it was 
that quality which spoke to her now. 

Abruptly she forced a laugh to keep herself from 
tears. “My dear, you make one feel like thirty cents.” 

It was one of the choicest phrases of the little go- 
getter, one among the many that had appealed to her 
friend. Somehow that phrase seemed to save the situa¬ 
tion. Yet not altogether. 

“I guess you don’t, honey.” Marne spoke bitterly. 
“And I guess you never will. You and your Mommer 


THERE IS A TIDE 


337 

and the friends and neighbours and that old house will 
see to that. I’m the one to feel like thirty cents.” 

The voice was so desolate that even Lady Violet, who 
did not care much for the practice, could not forbear 
from giving her a kiss. “I remember your saying that 
you had come over to pull the big stuff. Well, I rather 
think you’ve pulled it.” And her friend laughed again 
to keep her courage up. 

“I didn’t come to pull this sort of stuff.” Marne 
snorted as she brushed her eyes fiercely. “I’ve gone 
cuckoo. And to-morrow I’ll think so.” 

“One has to go cuckoo, as you call it, hasn’t one, to 
do the things worth doing? I could no more have let 
go that foolish bird, had I been you, than I could have 
jumped over the moon.” 

“No, I guess not. And even now, if you don’t want 
to lose him you had better watch the cage.” 

“How can we help you to keep your little paws off 
the foolish creature?” 

“By not letting me see him again.” Marne was 
stoical. As she spoke she wrapped up the box con¬ 
taining the ring and the letter she had written in a 
piece of brown paper; and then applied red sealing 
wax. “And if you are wise you’ll just see that he gets 
married pretty soon to—to—” Even her bravery was 
not quite equal to the task of pronouncing the hated 
name. “I think I’ll go to the post office and send this 
back in a registered parcel.” 

She quitted the room abruptly, leaving her friend 
to some very sharp-edged thoughts. 


XLIX 


HE days that followed were dark and difficult for 



Mame. Nor did Lady Violet find them particu¬ 
larly easy. At heart she was kindly and honest and she 
could not help fixing upon herself a good deal of 
the blame for what had occurred. She it was who had 
introduced this little marauder; she had been wil¬ 
fully and stupidly blind to the consequences; and her 
only excuse was that not for a moment could she believe 
that Bill would be so weak. Yet she had deliberately 
thrown them together. She had bestowed upon Mame 
a spurious eligibility. This bitterly humiliating busi¬ 
ness was an object lesson in the sheer folly of playing 
the fool. 

It was decidedly painful all round. First of all, poor 
Mame really suffered. The part she had undertaken 
to play was superhumanly big. Very few girls could 
have gone back in that way on their whole philosophy of 
life; and to Violet’s good heart it was hateful to have 
to ask her to do it. She must have loved Bill, perhaps 
as no other woman was likely to do, to nerve herself 
to a sacrifice so high. 

Much diplomacy was called for in the days that fol¬ 
lowed. Bill could be a stubborn fellow. His family 
had always humoured his whims. It looked at first 


THERE IS A TIDE 


339 


as if there would be no handling him. Irresponsible, 
not to say flabby, as his nature was, had he had the wit 
to realise clearly that poor Mame had got a blow over 
the heart, he would not have taken the thing lying 
down. 

Violet, hating intensely the role her own folly had 
doomed her to play, yet proved herself, when fairly put 
to it, a consummate tactician. Bill must not guess, must 
not come near guessing, how much this good and brave 
child really cared for him. He must be rather a “dud,” 
his sister thought, not to see it for himself. Instinct 
ought to have told him how the little brick was steeling 
her heart. Even while Violet threw dust in his eyes 
with a subtlety and a success for which she loathed 
herself, she yet clung to the paradoxical view that had 
Bill been worthy of Mame he would have been less 
obtuse. “She can’t bear your losing the Towers and 
giving up the Army.” That phrase was Violet’s 
strongest weapon. It admitted two interpretations and 
his sister was not in the least proud of Bill when he 
allowed it to suggest the wrong one. “Of course she 
considers the gilt will be off the gingerbread.” That 
was Machiavellian. The end seemed to justify the 
means; at any rate Violet had so persuaded herself; 
but it really was rather low down. And she could not, 
womanlike, help resenting Bill’s denseness and lack 
of character which made the unpleasant task of throw¬ 
ing dust in his eyes so much less difficult than it ought 
to have been. 

The weeks went by and Mame set herself stoically to 


340 


THERE IS A TIDE 


forget. There was pride in her as well as grit. She 
was determined to stand up to life and make something 
of the mighty difficult business of living it. To stanch 
her wounds she threw herself into her work with new 
ardour. Back of everything was rare common sense. 
She must have the strength to bear the self-inflicted 
blow without flinching. 

One morning, however, just before Christmas, an 
incident occurred that reopened the closing wounds. 
Marne and Celimene were discussing the make-up of 
the weekly cable to New York, when Celimene said with 
an odd change of tone, ‘‘There’s one bit of news that 
may not be without interest on the other side. It’s 
not yet announced, so we shall be the first in the field.” 

“What is the news?” asked Marne keenly. Her flair 
for a choice tit-bit was not less than of yore. 

“A marriage has been arranged, the date of which 
will be shortly announced, between the Marquis of 
Kidderminster and Gwendolen, the only child of Giles 
Childwick, Esquire, and Mrs. Childwick, formerly of 
Treville, New Jersey.” 

“Oh!” Marne gave a little gasp. Celimene saw her 
turn very white. 

“We are none of us worthy of you, my dear. In the 
end you’ll find yourself well rid of people like us.” 
Violet’s tone had a note of pain that for her was some¬ 
thing new. Life had not been exactly a bed of roses 
lately. She had discovered, a little late in the day 
perhaps, that she had a conscience. A share of the 
hurt she was inflicting had to be borne by herself. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


34i 


When Mame was able to speak she said: “You’d have 
been good enough for me. I like you all. You are 
some of the nicest folks Eve met.” The whimsical 
frankness of this good child brought back the laugh, if 
not too readily, to the worldly wise Violet. What a 
piece of luck, they both had a sense of humour! 

“We owe you more than perhaps you realise.” 
Violet did not find the words easy, but they had to be 
said. “You showed how terribly dangerous was delay 
as far as that brother of mine is concerned. He might 
have been snapped up by some pretty little prowler, 
with a nice taste in dicky birds, who short of death and 
destruction could never have been persuaded to unclasp 
her claws.” 

“That’s so,” assented Mame. “And you’re wise to 
have hustled on that marriage.” And then whimsically, 
to ease the aching of her heart: “Some other little cat 
might have got that bird.” 

She was so real and so true, this brave child, that 
Violet felt she would like to have taken her in her arms 
and hugged her. “My mother and I both realise that 
you have done a big thing. She has sent you all sorts 
of kind messages. We are going to see that Gwen¬ 
dolen plays the game so far as you are concerned. And 
no matter how long you stay over here you will always 
have friends.” 

“Gwendolen will make him a good wife.” 

“Yes, she will. She is a very sensible girl, with a 
strong will. I am sure she will keep him on the rails. 
And she really cares for him.” 


342 


THERE IS A TIDE 


“Perhaps he’ll get to care for her after a while.” 

“I think he may. Gwendolen is a very good sort. 
But I’m afraid Bill’s feelings don’t run deep.” And 
the note of pain crept again into the voice of his sister. 


L 


r T“ s HE marriage ceremony was fixed for the second 
week of the new year. All London was invited. 
The Childwicks liked to do things well, and however 
well they did them made no impact on their wealth. 
They were really rich people and of late years their 
stock had been going continually up. 

Still it was generally felt that Gwendolen had done 
very well. She was a cut and polished jewel, but a 
setting was needed for her. What choicer setting 
could mortal girl desire than an old and distinguished 
marquisate and that beautiful and historical place 
Warlington Towers? These things would supply the 
essential background her millions lacked. Then, too, 
Bill was a popular young man. His feelings, as his 
sister said, might not run deep, but in his way he was 
immensely attractive. Everybody liked Bill. Even 
his fecklessness was a point in his favour. And he 
would be all the better for having a shrewd and clever 
American wife to keep him up to the mark. 

Marne received an invitation from the Childwicks; 
her friends saw to that. It was duly accepted; yet 
when the day came she did not feel equal to facing the 
music. Lady Violet did her best to persuade her to 
come to the church and to the reception in Berkeley 
343 


344 


THERE IS A TIDE 


Square, until she realised that it would not be kind to 
persist. Good, brave little puss! Those quaint furry 
paws had been rather nastily trapped. She was still 
suffering. For all her wonderful grit, when the day 
came she could not help groaning a bit over the throb¬ 
bing of her wounds. 

It went to Lady Violet’s heart to leave her behind. 
But there was no help for it. The child could not face 
the music. And it was hardly reasonable to expect 
that she should. 

Even as Lady Violet stood in her regalia, which 
emphasised her fine points, and took a tender and affec¬ 
tionate leave of poor Marne, she could not help saying 
in her frank way: “I’m not going to enjoy this one bit. 
We’re shown up too badly. I wish now I hadn’t inter¬ 
fered.” 

It was no more than the truth. She felt on a low 
plane. Compared with her friend and business part¬ 
ner she had a sense of inferiority which was new and 
decidedly unwelcome. 

“You were quite right, honey.” Marne was brave 
and magnanimous to the end. “Had I been you I’d 
just have done that. It’s nature. And it’s no use try¬ 
ing to go against nature.” 

But Marne’s eyes were so tragic, that her friend, 
without venturing to say another word, made a sort 
of bolt for the door and for the lift beyond it. No, 
Lady Violet did not feel that she was going to enjoy 
her day. 

The day, for Marne, was very far from being one of 


THERE IS A TIDE 


345 


enjoyment either. A great deal of it was spent walking 
about London. Now the pinch had really come it was 
the go-getter who mounted to the saddle and took com¬ 
mand. The practical side of a dual nature was not 
slow to inform her that she had gone back on herself. 
She had betrayed, at the beck of a mere whim, all that 
she had stood for. 

Life had always been against her until a few months 
ago. She had had to fight so hard for bare existence 
that she might at least have had the sense to ensure 
the future when opportunity arose. But no, she had 
denied her luck. There was a Tide. Well, the Tide 
had come and she had deliberately ignored it. A great 
position, social security had been offered her. She had 
even accepted her chance and then, just for a whim, 
had passed it on to her enemy and rival. 

The go-getter spared her nothing. It had a royal 
time. She had been a fool. The lot of the fool was 
suffering. “You’ve broken a paw, honey. Always 
you’ll be a little mucker now. You’ll never be able to 
fix on anything again. No more will you be able to 
mark down your bird and fly at it. You’ll be unsettled 
for the rest of your days. Not always will you be 
brisk and quick; your looks, such as they are, and 
they’ve never been much to bank on, honey, are going 
already. These folks in London, England, who mocked 
at you and pulled your leg, you could have handed them 
a haymaker. But no, you must get fanciful and high¬ 
falutin.” 

Yes, the go-getter with the sardonic voice and a flow 


THERE IS A TIDE 


346 

of rather second-rate conversation had a royal time. 
He spared her nothing. She was unworthy of herself, 
of her breed, of her clan. Idealism. The hearty fellow 
landed his simp of a partner a blow on the point. If 
some of these honest-to-God Americans didn’t watch 
out, Idealism was going to be their ruin. You didn’t 
catch the dyed-in-the-wool Britisher playing around 
with flams of that kind. He was a pretty successful 
merchant, the Britisher, but he was content to leave 
idealism to other people. As a business man he was a 
model for the world. And why? Because with all 
his lip service he knew how to keep the soft stuff 
apart from the hard. 

Poor Marne! She trudged half the day about the 
streets of a hostile city. With that pressure upon her 
spirit it was impossible to stay quiet indoors. Her very 
soul seemed to ache. Every syllable was true that was 
whispered in her overwrought ear. She had gone back 
on all she had ever stood for. They had put one over 
on her, these hard-roed Britishers. Yes, she must be 
cuckoo. You came over to pull big stuff, whispered 
the relentless voice. And by cripes, Marne Durrance, 
you’ve pulled it! 

Tired out at last with tramping the West End parks 
and squares, she took a little food in a restaurant in 
a by-street of Soho. There she was likely to meet no 
one she knew. She was not in a mood to face her kind. 
As she ate her soup a nostalgia came upon her. After 
all, she was in a strange land, an alien. Their ways 
were not her ways; they had a different viewpoint; their 


THERE IS A TIDE 


347 


method of doing things was not the same. She began 
to long for the sight and the sound of the homely, 
hearty, warm-blooded folks she had known; the folks 
who spoke the same language as herself, in the curious 
drawl that lately she had been taking such pains to get 
rid of. 

Her thoughts went back to the land where she be¬ 
longed. In the bitterest hour she had known since she 
had started out from her home town to see life, she 
had a craving for the friendly easy-goingness of her 
own kind. She had crowded a lot of experience into 
her European pilgrimage; in certain ways her luck had 
been truly remarkable. Marne Durrance had made 
good at her job; but this evening with a very large size 
“black monkey” upon her, she had a sudden yearning 
for the larger and freer air of her native continent. 

Miserably unhappy she returned to the flat about nine 
o’clock. Lady Violet had been home from the revels, 
had inquired for her anxiously, but had changed her 
dress and gone out to dinner. Evidently she was mak¬ 
ing a day of it. Marne was not sorry. She had no 
wish to be caught in this mood. Yet she had no desire 
for bed. She would not be able to sleep if she turned 
in. The ache in her heart was terrible. If she could 
not learn to subdue it, for the first time in her life she 
would be driven to take a drug. 

Suddenly her eye lit on a package on the writing 
table. It bore the label of a New York publisher and 
was addressed to herself. Perfunctorily she tore off 
the wrapper. A novel in a gay jacket was revealed. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


348 

It was called Prairie City ; and the name of the author 
was Elmer Pell Dobree. 

Marne’s heart leaped. Coincidence has an arm noto¬ 
riously long, but nothing could have been more timely 
than the arrival of this book. Her thoughts rushed 
back to the source of its being. And as if to speed 
them on their way, a letter had been enclosed in the 
parcel. 

Characteristically it ran: 

Dear Mame, 

You are such a girl now, among your slick 
friends in London, and you are pulling such big stuff 
with your weekly columnising, that I daresay you have 
forgotten your obscure Cowbarn epoch, and the junk 
whose early chapters you had the honour (sic) of typing 
for your first and most distinguished (sic) editor, with 
which the boob filled in his spare hours. You used to 
tell him how good these opening chapters were and the 
boob used to believe you. The consequence is . . . well, 
this is the consequence. By the way, it was clever you 
that invented the title, after we had shaken a leg—and 
you were always some dancer—at that dive at the top 
of Second Street, one wet afternoon. 

Well, Marne, that title was lucky. Prairie City has made 
good. It has, if I may say it modestly, made quite sur¬ 
prisingly good. ’Tis hardly six weeks since it was first 
issued here by Allardyce, Inc., but already it’s gone big. 
Early next month their London house will publish it, and 
if it can repeat in England what it has done in New York, 
the undersigned Elmer Pell Dobree is a permanent whale. 
So go to it, Marne, you little go-getter. Corral the big 


THERE IS A TIDE 


349 


drum and get around the comic town of your adoption— 
worse luck!—and see if for the sake of old times—good 
times they were, too, I’ll tell the world—you can’t put 
one over, in the name of an old friend, on the doggone 
Britisher. 

P. S. When do we see you again here? As Eve told 
you more than once, this continent is a poorer place for 
your absence. If you’ve left us for keeps it’s a great, 
great shame; and there’s one young man who won’t for¬ 
give you. 

When, at a decidedly late hour, or, rather, an early 
one, Lady Violet returned from the festivities, she 
invaded Marne’s bedroom. She wanted to see if the 
child had come back and that she was all right. In 
spite of the excitements of the day her thoughts had 
been pretty constantly with her little friend. She was 
a good deal concerned about Marne. And now it was 
something of a relief to find her propped up in bed, 
simply devouring a book with a red cover. 

It was so good to see a smile on a countenance which 
a few hours ago looked as if it would never smile 
again, that the intruder exclaimed, “Why, why, what¬ 
ever have you there?” 

“Elmer’s written a book.” A glow of excitement 
was in Marne’s tone and in her eyes. “It’s all about 
Cowbarn and the folks we used to know.’* 

“True to life, I hope.” Marne’s friend, gazing at 
her furtively, sought to read what lay behind that rather 
hectic air. 

“Better than life ever was or ever will be. It just 


350 THERE IS A TIDE 

gets you feeling good. And it keeps you feeling good 
all the time.” 

“He must be a clever man, your friend Elmer P/' 

“Clever is not the name for Elmer.” Marne spoke 
excitedly. “A genius—that baby! All the Cowbam 
folks are in it. I’m in it. And I’ll say he’s let me down 
light.” 

“I hope he’s made you the heroine of the piece. Any¬ 
how, he ought to have. You are fit to be the heroine of 
the best piece ever written.” 

“Say now, honey/’ expostulated Marne in the way 
her friend had learned to love, “that’s where you get 
off. Heroine-ism and that fancy jake is no use to me. 
I’ll never be able to get away with it. But Elmer has 
let me down light.” 

“You must let me read it.” 

Marne laughed. She actually laughed. “Why, you 
shall so. It’s the goods. That boy has an eye to him. 
He can see into things. And he knows a lot about 
human nature, does that boy.” 

Already Lady Violet was feeling a lively sense of 
gratitude towards the famous and legendary Elmer P. 
The poor child was transformed. Her own people, for 
whose homely and abounding kindliness she had in 
her misery been longing, were alive in those magic 
pages. Yes, they were alive and they were dancing, 
Marne declared. And half America was dancing with 
them. 

The mirth of the simple creatures she loved so well 
had lifted a weight from her heart. The relief might 


THERE IS A TIDE 


35i 

only be temporary, but Lady Violet was very willing 
to do homage to the wizardry of Elmer P. 

“There’s his letter.” Marne tossed it excitedly across 
the bright green expanse of counterpane. 

Lady Violet read with a smile. And then suddenly 
there came a mischievous little clutch at her heart. 
Yes, why not? It was an idea. The brilliantly clever 
woman of the world again glanced furtively at Marne. 
This intoxicating moment, which was doing so much to 
heal the child and to keep her sane, must, if possible, 
be held. But how? Like all things in time it was 
fleeting, transitory. With the coming of daylight it 
would surely pass. A pitiless January dawn would 
throw her back upon hard and cruel reality. Yet this 
moment of happiness might be extended; perhaps there 
was a chance of making it permanent. 

She fixed her wise eyes upon those of the feverish 
Marne. “Yes, my dear, we’ll go round with the big 
drum. We’ll corral the Press all right. If Prairie City 
doesn’t knock London endways it shall not be our 
fault.” 

“You can bet your life it won’t be!” 

“Well, write to-morrow and tell him so.” 

“I will.” 

“And tell him, my dear, in a postscript, strongly un¬ 
derlined, that if he will do the one thing you ask you’ll 
guarantee the success of Prairie City this side the At¬ 
lantic.” 

Marne was all ears. “What’s that, honey?” 

“He must come over himself as soon as ever he can. 


352 


THERE IS A TIDE 


We’ll promise the very best that can be done for him in 
the way of a good time. After all there is no adver¬ 
tisement for a book quite equal to the person who 
wrote it.” 

Marne gave a chuckle of pleasure. Sure, it was an 
idea. Why had not she thought of it herself? 

“Yes, hon, if Elmer comes that’ll fix it.” 

But would he come? That stern question at once 
invaded Marne’s mind. 

“We’ll make him,” said Lady Violet. 

“He’s not easy to make do anything he don’t want 
to. And he’s pretty busy these days and rather im¬ 
portant, too.” 

“We’ll get at him somehow.” Lady Violet had an 
arch look. “For his own sweet sake,” she added art¬ 
fully. 


LI 


/ T S HE next day they laid their clever heads together 
and wrote a letter to Elmer P. It was apprecia¬ 
tive but peremptory. He must mail his latest photo¬ 
graph at once. And he had better send that old green 
album, too, with all those snapshots in it of Cowbam, 
Iowa, including some interesting views of the exterior 
and the interior of the office building of the good old 
Independent . 

Marne gave a solemn undertaking to get out the big 
drum and to go around with it. She and her friends, 
in fact, would organise such a publicity campaign as 
would astonish even a booster like himself. But he, 
too, must be ready to do his bit. By the time London 
had the book in its hands, it would be dying to see the 
author. He must come over, if only for a week, he 
must, he must! That final imperative word was three 
times underscored. 

The thirteen days that followed the letter’s posting 
were rather anxious ones. Lady Violet feared that 
when Marne’s excitement had time to cool a bad reac¬ 
tion would set in. By judicious fanning, however, she 
was able to keep the flame alive; sufficiently, at any 
rate, to provide a highly necessary distraction. 

Elmer’s reply came promptly. The urgent skill of 
353 


354 


THERE IS A TIDE 


the summons had at least stirred him to that. More¬ 
over, in the pompous language of the British House of 
Go-getters, which Marne had heard for herself from 
the Ladies’ Gallery, the answer was in the affirmative. 
The great man actually promised to come to London. 
His coming, moreover, should synchronise with the 
British publication of his book, which since he wrote 
last had sold three more editions in these United States. 

“He doesn’t let the grass grow!” Marne crowed her 
triumph. It was disinterested triumph. She had 
nothing to gain, as far as she knew, by the coming of 
Elmer, except in the way of humble-minded min¬ 
istry to his rapidly growing fame. “One of the up- 
and-coming ones is Elmer, for all he’s so quiet. Tell 
me, Vi, what do you think of his photograph?” 

“Is it like him?” 

“He’s changed some, I’ll say, since I left him in the 
editor’s office at Cowbarn, twenty months ago to-mor¬ 
row.” 

“A clever face.” A good face, too, Lady Violet 
might have added. She certainly saw something oddly 
attractive in the fair, open countenance of Elmer P. 

“I guess there’s something better than clever in it.” 
Marne gazed critically at the photograph. 

“Well, dear child, I guess there is, too.” 

Her friend looked at her tenderly and then laughed 
to herself softly. 


LII 


T HEY lost no time in getting to work. First they 
went to Henrietta Street and called upon Allar- 
dyce, Inc. Taking wise men into their counsels, they 
started to plan a campaign whose aim was the making 
of Elmer Pell Dobree a household name in Britain. 
They infected Allardyce, Inc., with their own enthusi¬ 
asm ; not perhaps such a difficult process. Every mail 
was bringing news of breaking records across the water. 
Prairie City was the best in its kind since Mark Twain. 
Indeed some of the highbrows thought really and truly 
it was better. 

The publishers were taken with Marne. All the nat¬ 
ural zip of the booster-born sprang to the surface as 
she lightly gave off her ideas for the big drum. Very 
bright some of these ideas were. There was one in 
particular which appealed to these shrewd men. Un¬ 
fortunately, to carry it out would cost money. But 
as smart Miss Amethyst Du Ranee, a writer herself, 
by the way, declared, quoting from a favourite calendar 
that had once adorned the wall at the back of her type¬ 
writer in that identical office which soon would be fa¬ 
mous over the breadth of two continents, If you want 
to make Omelettes you’ve got to break Eggs. 

This boom was going to cost money. No use burk- 
355 


THERE IS A TIDE 


35<5 

ing that fact in political economy. But it was going 
to be worth it. Lady Violet Treherne—that very dis¬ 
tinguished-looking girl who had accompanied the cork¬ 
ing little Miss Du Ranee into the back parlour: 
Celimene, by the way, of the Morning News —was of 
that opinion, too. Prairie City was the goods. It 
was the big stuff. Every dime spent on boosting it 
would earn a dollar. 

Allardyce, Inc., of the Allardyce Building, East 
Forty-ninth Street, New York City, U.S.A., and i-a 
Henrietta Street, London, England, not to mention 16 
Rue de la Paix, Paris, France; 39 Stratton Street, 
Johannesburg, S.A., and 105 Victoria Avenue, Mel¬ 
bourne, Australia; in short, wherever the honest mother 
tongue is spoken, Allardyce, Inc., decided to fall for 
Miss Du Ranee and her little campaign. Still it was 
going to cost money. 

“It’ll be worth it all the time.” The air of Miss Du 
Ranee was already victorious. “You do your bit and 
we’ll do ours. That’s all we ask.” 

The head of the London branch of the well-known 
firm personally bowed the two ladies into their taxi. 
He had not been so impressed in years. Full of vim 
this Miss Du Ranee. Portentously full of pep. No 
wonder they made good in cradle-rocking Britain, when 
they came over, these one-hundred-per-cent little ladies 
from the U.S. And the cunning minx kept back a few 
grains of the pep for her final shot. As she offered a 
hand in parting, at its most fashionable angle, to Allar¬ 
dyce, Inc., she said in her new and careful Mayfair 


THERE IS A TIDE 


357 

manner: “When Elmer Pell Dobree arrives in this 
country, Lady Violet Treherne will give a luncheon for 
him at the Savoy Hotel. All the most worth-while 
folks in London will be invited to meet him. I tell 
you, sir, although you mustn’t tell the world just now, 
she has already arranged with her friend the Prime 
Minister, if he happens to be disengaged at the mo-ment, 
to attend the gathering and to give an ad-dress on the 
Value of Literary Art in International Relations.” 

They left Allardyce, Inc., balanced on the extreme 
edge of the kerb of Henrietta Street, staring after their 
departing chariot. As they drove off to luncheon at 
the Ladies Imperium, Lady Violet said, “My child, I 
rather think you’ve clicked.” 

Marne felt rather that she had. The happy feeling 
was confirmed, moreover, a little later in the week when 
a second letter from Elmer P. was delivered in Half 
Moon Street. In it, that now famous man positively 
undertook to be at the Savoy Hotel on February io, 
always providing the Olympic in which he had booked 
a passage came in on time. He hoped to stay a fort¬ 
night in London. But that, he feared, must be his 
limit. For just now he was living a forty-eight-hour 
day in New York. 

“You can bet your life that’s so,” was Marne’s ap¬ 
proving comment. 


LIII 


T? LMER came and saw London, England. And the 
ancient burg gave him a real good time. He went 
here, there and everywhere; his photograph was in all 
the papers; columns were written about his book. 
There was a brilliant luncheon at the Savoy. Lady 
Violet kept her promise. Big-wigs attended it, includ¬ 
ing her father’s old friend the Prime Minister, who 
seized the occasion to deliver a most significant address 
on the Value, Etc., which was cabled verbatim all over 
the English-speaking world. 

No young author, since the art of writing was in¬ 
vented, ever had a more generous reception in the great 
metropolis. A modest, rather shy, young man, he was 
inclined at first to be overwhelmed by it. But the un¬ 
defeated Marne, who met him at Euston, who took him 
to his hotel, who gave him continual advice, saw to it 
that he wasn’t. For the honour of Cowbam, Iowa, he 
must stand right up to his job. It was her task to see 
that he did so without flinching and she duly performed 
it. She mothered him through receptions and tea 
parties; she toted him around; and the bewildered and 
breathless Elmer hardly knew whether to be more im¬ 
pressed by the storm his coming had aroused or by the 
manner in which Marne rode it. 

358 


THERE IS A TIDE 


359 

Nothing in the whole of London astonished him 
quite so much as Marne’s transformation from her 
chrysalis Cowbarn period. Her clothes, her style, her 
English accent fairly tickled him to death. Then the 
friends she had made! She appeared to hob-nob with 
half the swells in Britain and to have them feeding 
from the hand. 

Elmer had many surprises in these crowded and 
glorious days. But, shrewd and cool American citizen 
that he was, he managed to keep a perfectly level head. 
For the life of him he couldn’t imagine what all the 
fuss was about; or at least if he had an inkling of the 
reason for it, he could not understand how Marne had 
contrived it all. She had evidently had the luck to 
strike some very powerful backers. 

Even before landing in England, he had surmised 
that such was the case. The mysterious Celimene, of 
the weekly news-letter, had proved to be so highly in¬ 
formed in social matters that her value had been clearly 
demonstrated in New York. Her name had been given 
him in confidence before he came over; and he was 
mighty keen to meet her. 

They might be said to challenge each other’s curi¬ 
osity. But their meeting not only fulfilled their hopes 
of one another; it was the beginning of a friendship. 
One could not help liking the author of Prairie City. 
He was a well-set-up young man; and behind the dry 
shrewdness and the determination to get there, qualities 
characteristic of Marne herself, were genuine kindli¬ 
ness and modesty. His rise to fame had been less 


THERE IS A TIDE 


360 

sudden than it seemed. It had been prepared for and 
earned. He owned to thirty-one years of life. They 
had not been easy years, but they had made him the 
man he was. 

Lady Violet was glad that Elmer answered fully to 
Marne’s description of him as “a regular fellow.” 
There was something about him that inspired confi¬ 
dence. Whether it was a certain slowness of speech 
which implied depth of mind, a vein of real grit, or 
the charming air of diffidence with which he wore the 
fame that so deservedly was his, she instinctively felt 
that here was what Marne called a he-man. 

This was well. She had a plan in that sagacious 
mind of hers. But the carrying out of it depended 
upon Elmer P. himself. Unless he could pass the test, 
and a pretty severe one, that a thorough woman of the 
world felt bound to impose, the fine scheme was doomed 
from the outset. His bearing, however, in those 
crowded days in which they saw a good deal of each 
other, convinced this friend that rumour had not over¬ 
painted him. Undoubtedly the young man deserved the 
position his talents had won. Beneath a surface a 
little stiff and formal at first, and, the critic thought, 
none the worse for that, was a warmth of heart and 
a balance of nature which enabled him to pass his ex¬ 
amination with flying colours. 

As much time as Elmer could spare from his ex¬ 
ceedingly numerous engagements was devoted to Half 
Moon Street. From the first afternoon he went there 
to drink tea, with reviewers and people of influence in 


THERE IS A TIDE 


361 

the world of letters, he took a great liking to the place. 
For one thing he was made to feel so much at home. 
The presence of Marne guaranteed that. She was quite 
unspoiled in spite of the English accent, which to 
Elmer’s secret delight was apt to wear a little thin in 
places. He was no end of an observer, the author of 
Prairie City. Back in the Cowbarn days there was 
something in Marne that had appealed to him; and in 
this new orientation she was still the Marne he had 
liked, smiled at just a little, and yet admired. Won¬ 
derful how she had been able to get away with it; yet 
he was not really surprised. He had always known 
that his little stenographer had a lot in her. 

Everybody was so friendly in Half Moon Street. 
They seemed to take quite a personal pride in his suc¬ 
cess; they seemed to treat it almost as a part of their 
own. During the hours he spent there Marne and her 
friend Lady Violet were always devising fresh schemes 
for Prairie City. The boom was growing daily. But 
it must get bigger and bigger. Had he been their own 
brother they could not have done more. 

One afternoon, when Elmer had been in London a 
week, he came rather early and happened to catch Lady 
Violet alone. Marne had gone, at the call of duty, to 
the premiere of a new play. In this rather providen¬ 
tial absence, which yet did not owe quite so much to 
providence as appeared on the surface, Lady Violet 
seized the chance to have a private talk. 

“So you are leaving us a week to-day ?” 

Elmer confessed that was his intention. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


362 

“If you find us all as complacent as our perfectly 
absurd newspapers you won’t be sorry.” 

Elmer had the tact to ignore the vexed question of 
the British newspaper. “I’ll be sorry enough,” he 
said with simple sincerity. “You are just giving me 
the time of my life.” 

“Your book is so delightful. Every fresh reader is 
one friend more for the man who has written it.” Lady 
Violet yielded to none in point of tact. Over that 
course few could live with her. “But I do hope you 
realise,” she went laughingly on, “that, although you 
are your own best asset, as of course every true author 
has to be, you have also had a very clever and enthusi¬ 
astic friend to pull the strings over here.” 

Elmer realised that. 

“One doesn’t say your success might not have been 
as great without her; but it could hardly have come so 
soon.” 

Yes, Elmer was sure. 

“The way that dear child has worked for you has 
simply been splendid. Had she written the book her¬ 
self, I don’t think she could have been prouder of it. 
She literally bullied your publishers into boosting you 
—you know what even the best publishers are!—she 
bullied me into corralling the Prime Minister—it was 
a rare bit of luck getting him to come and make that 
speech—and it was her idea, wasn’t it, that you should 
come over here and let us see you?” 

Elmer felt all this was true. But gallantly he wanted 


THERE IS A TIDE 363 

to include Lady Violet herself in the big bill of his 
gratitude. 

“Please keep it all for Mame. That good child de¬ 
serves every bit. She has worked for you like a demon. 
As good as gold, as true as steel. And she is quite 
cast down that you are leaving us next week.” 

Unluckily there was no help for it. But Elmer P., 
like most people of true genius, was simple at heart. 
He responded to the piping. Mame Durrance—in the 
mouth of her former employer the accent fell upon the 
first syllable of her surname rather than upon the sec¬ 
ond—deserved all the luck there was in the world. She 
was as real as they made them; and she was able to think 
of others. 

Lady Violet drove that right home. “I, of all peo¬ 
ple, have reason to know it. She is capable of big 
things, that dear child. Some day, when you come and 
see us again, as of course you will, I may tell you a 
little story about her.” 

Elmer could not help a feeling of subtle flattery. It 
is difficult for rising young men to resist such a feeling 
when they find themselves tete-a-tete with an accom¬ 
plished woman of the world. Lady Violet was quite as 
intriguing as any of the Fifth Avenue queens, with 
one or two of whom he was beginning to get acquainted. 
Mame had had amazing luck to put herself in so solid 
with this fascinating woman. It was true that Elmer 
personally owed a lot to Mame, a peerless little go- 
getter, but it was also true that Mame for her part 
owed much to this brilliant daughter of a famous states- 


THERE IS A TIDE 


364 

man who in his day had done a great deal for the Eng¬ 
lish-speaking world. 

The clock ticked pleasantly on to five o’clock and then 
quite as pleasantly to 5:15. But no Mame. Lady 
Violet feigned surprise. Then she glanced at an im¬ 
posing array of cards on the chimneypiece. Oh, yes, 
she remembered! This was the at-home day of the 
wife of an influential editor. Mame had evidently kept 
it in mind even if Lady Violet herself had forgotten. 
“She’s gone there to boost Prairie City ” said her friend 
with a smile. “Wherever she goes now she boosts 
Prairie City; and at night she boosts it in her dreams.” 

A quarter past five already! Elmer Pell Dobree rose 
with a start. At 5 130—Lady Violet must really ex¬ 
cuse him—he was due in Aldwych to orate to the Jour¬ 
nalists’ Circle on the Coming of the American Novel. 
He was sorry to go, but Mame had fixed that on him 
at about twelve hours’ notice, and as his good fairy 
declared it would mean another edition, he supposed 
he must stand up, a hero, and face it. 

“You must.” Lady Violet had what Elmer privately 
described as a Gioconda smile. Here was guile, here 
was subtlety or the author of Prairie City was not a 
judge of such matters. How intriguing she was. Gee! 
she had a power of making your blood course quicker. 

“I’ve one favour to ask, Lady Violet.” Elmer was 
moving to the door. “Can you and Mame spare to¬ 
morrow evening to dine with me quietly at the Savoy?” 

Lady Violet took up a little red book from the writ¬ 
ing table. A glance revealed that by the courtesy of 


THERE IS A TIDE 365 

providence to-morrow night was free. She could not 
answer for Mame, but to the best of her recollection 
there was reason to think the little go-getter would 
not be in action that evening. 

So then it was arranged, a little dinner, just the three 
of them, for the next evening, which was so provi¬ 
dentially free, at the convenient hour of eight. Un¬ 
less, of course, Mame, which somehow Lady Violet felt 
was hardly likely, telephoned him to the contrary. 


LIV 


T HE little dinner was capital. In every small but 
considered detail it could not have been nicer. 
Elmer P., as the world looks for in one of his emi¬ 
nence, was growing to be a judge of food and wine. 
Also the shrewd dog knew how to choose his company. 
On his right sat Lady Violet, on his left was Marne. 
Over and beyond this pair of friends and boosters was 
vacancy, the limitless inane, at least so far as those 
three minds were concerned, although at other tables 
sat persons not without importance in their way. 

In return for delicate food and dry champagne 
Elmer received high entertainment from the lively 
tongues of his charming guests. Both were observers 
of the human comedy, yet they observed it in the right 
way. There was nothing in their talk that was spiteful 
or backstairs, or beneath the dignity of human nature. 
Their aptness, wit, and general information, their opin¬ 
ions upon books, plays, music and the world at large 
gave the host a mental punch from the hors d’oeuvres 
to the comice pear and the creme de menthe, for which 
crude liqueur both ladies confessed a partiality. 

Elmer had had his triumphs, in the last week or so 
particularly, but frankly he doubted whether he had 
ever enjoyed a meal like this. It was so gay. And 
366 


THERE IS A TIDE 


367 

there was the glamour of new experience. His life 
had suddenly been touched to newer and finer issues. 

When the coffee appeared, at the end of the meal, 
Lady Violet drank hers quickly. Then quite unex¬ 
pectedly she rose. She would have to fly. There was 
a musical party she had promised to attend. A stupid 
affair, but it was the call of duty. 

Marne and Elmer were pressing in their entreaties 
for their amusing friend to remain, but she was not 
to be seduced from the true path. Besides, as she 
laughingly said, it was a perfect night of stars. And 
this being a sufficiently rare occurrence for London, she 
hoped that Elmer—if she might use his Christian name? 
—would walk with Marne through Trafalgar Square, 
along Pall Mall, up the Haymarket, across the Circus 
and down the full length of Piccadilly. She ventured 
to prescribe that route, because a little bird had whis¬ 
pered that if Elmer duly followed it he might look for 
a very pleasant surprise, for which Marne was alone 
responsible. 

This was all so enigmatic that Elmer might have 
been tempted to disbelieve Lady Violet. But he knew 
she was no trifler. Emphatically she was one of the 
people who did not make promises unless they were able 
to deliver the goods. 

“We’ll go along and try it, anyway,” conceded Elmer 
the polite. And being something of an altruist into 
the bargain: “But you’ll come with us, won’t you? 
We can’t lose you!” 

Lady Violet’s refusal was amusingly definite. She 


368 THERE IS A TIDE 

was late already; she must fly. Besides, there was an 
even more cogent reason. That, however, she was 
careful not to disclose to Elmer P. Dobree. As that 
homme du monde moved a bit ahead of her to the res¬ 
taurant door to see her into her cloak and her taxi, she 
bent to Marne’s ear and whispered urgently, “My child, 
if you don’t put one over on him to-night I’ll never 
speak to you again.” 


LV 


BLITHE twenty minutes or so after Lady Violet 



had “flown/’ Elmer and Marne decided to get a 
move on. For one thing Elmer’s curiosity had been 
tremendously piqued by the surprise that had been pre¬ 
dicted. What could it be ? Lady Violet, he supposed, 
was just pulling his leg. Yet he didn’t think so really; 
he knew she was not the kind of person to break a 
solemn promise. Still there was nothing to deduce 
from the attitude of Marne. The aider and abettor 
of Lady Violet was giving nothing away. The stars 
were very bright, the air for the time of year quite 
balmy, the pavements of London were dry as a bone. 
All the conditions, therefore, were favourable for out¬ 
door exercise. Indeed, as Elmer said, or it may have 
been Marne who said it, the evening was just ideal for 
the purpose. 

Marne put on her lovely new cloak trimmed with fur, 
or at least Elmer put it on for her. Then Elmer got 
into his overcoat and clapped on his smart gibus, which 
gave him such a look of distinction, that a loafer 
cadging for pence just beyond the courtyard of the 
hotel promptly addressed him as Captain. 

The mutt got the coppers all right. It was not so 
much that Elmer was susceptible to that kind of flat- 


370 


THERE IS A TIDE 


tery, as that just now he was not in a mood to refuse 
anything to anybody. He was moving about this eve¬ 
ning in an enchanted world. 

At every step they took in it now, the world through 
which they were moving seemed to grow more entranc¬ 
ing. For one thing there was a powerful magic in the 
stars. The strip of moon, too, as Marne remarked, 
seemed to be trying to put one over on them. She 
made this observation while they were in the act of 
steering each other across the perilous vortex from 
Northumberland Avenue to Morley’s Hotel, and nearly 
barging into more than one of their compatriots in the 
process. 

However, they crossed in safety. Then they crossed 
again by the National Gallery and sauntered gaily along 
until they came to that great landmark in Marne’s ad¬ 
venturous life, the Carlton Hotel. She gave a long 
look at it as they went by. Even on this night of mar¬ 
vels she could not pass that consecrated spot without a 
sense of amazement and gratitude. 

They turned up by the Haymarket, according to 
plan, and then slowly rounded the corner into Picca¬ 
dilly Circus. And then it was in this identical mo¬ 
ment that the goods were delivered in the most unex¬ 
pected and convincing way. The surprise that had 
been solemnly promised Elmer appeared right before 
his eyes. 

A flaming electric sign winked letter by letter from 
the starlit sky. 


THERE IS A TIDE 


37i 


PRAIRIE CITY 

BY ELMER PELL DOBREE 

The Book 

All the World 
Is Reading 

“Gee!” gasped Elmer. The secret had been care¬ 
fully kept; he had not an inkling! A surprise indeed, 
a masterpiece of boosting. 

Marne’s voice rose in triumph. “Say, listen, Elmer. 
I’ll tell the world this is where we put one over on Lon¬ 
don, England.” 

Down Piccadilly they walked on air. No word 
passed. But to keep in touch with himself and the 
mundane realities Elmer took Marne’s hand. These 
were sublime moments. Suddenly, high above the 
famous street, the sign flamed out again. 

“Say, listen, Marne,” began Elmer hoarsely. But 
even with all his genius to help him he did not know 
how to end, so he merely squeezed her hand. 

The dear little go-getter, how slick she was! But 
she was also something much better than slick. She 
was fine and true. A minute they stood gazing at the 
recurring sign in all its brilliancy and then, life being 
too wonderful to stand still in it, they moved on hand in 
hand. 

Sure it was destiny they should be walking thus, 
four thousand miles, four thousand solid miles, from 
the dear funny old spot in which they had walked last. 


37 2 


THERE IS A TIDE 


If only Cowbarn, Iowa, could see that sign. The book 
all the world was reading; the book that had immor¬ 
talised the Folks. Would they recognise themselves 
in all their humour and their quiddity? 

When speech was possible between them, which was 
not until they were near the precincts of the Ritz, it 
was Marne who dared. “Elmer,” her voice was very 
soft, “I’m feeling pretty good about our book.” She 
said “our book.” “There’s not one word we’ll ever 
have to wish away. The folks aren’t saints, the folks 
aren’t, but there ain’t a line that’s mean. There’s noth¬ 
ing to make ’em sorry. Some of the stories you might 
have told you didn’t tell. Some of the things you might 
have said you didn’t say. Elmer, I’m feeling pretty 
good about that book.” 

Elmer, too, was feeling pretty good. In fact so good 
was Elmer feeling, that for all he was fully launched 
in the realm of letters, he still couldn’t find a word. 
Not one word. But like all young men of force and 
originality he enjoyed a certain power of action. Quite 
suddenly, without premeditation, he put one over on 
Marne. In the dark shadow cast by the Ritz arcade, 
he kissed the little go-getter. 

Marne was thrilled by the sheer audacity of the as¬ 
sault. But there was the authority of the book all the 
world was reading that the heart of woman is a queer 
thing; so she just didn’t mind at all. However, she 
did not speak again, until hand in hand they had con¬ 
voyed each other past a line of pirates in the guise of 
taxi cabmen, whom the law allows to range themselves 


THERE IS A TIDE 


373 


in a row opposite Devonshire House. Nay, she didn’t 
speak until they had passed the end of Half Moon 
Street, the other side of the road, and on by the railings 
of the Green Park. 

It was when they halted to gaze at the bright win¬ 
dows of the Ladies Imperium that Marne’s soft voice 
was heard. 

“That’s the hen club I belong to.” 

Elmer was impressed. 

“It’s the Chickest hen club in London.” 

Elmer guessed it was. 

“Cocks are not admitted. If they was,”—Marne 
said was, yet she knew perfectly well it wasn’t gram¬ 
mar,—“I’d take you right in and buy you a cocktail.” 

This was a little too much for the author of Prairie 
City. Such un-American play upon words was the 
palpable fruit of mental stress, but in combination with 
the magic of the stars it was a little too much for 
Elmer P. Dobree. 

“Now, then, Marne Durrance, can that.” And then 
immediately opposite those flaming windows and in 
the lee of the park railings which hid them well, he 
kissed her again with rapturous violence. 

After this stimulating episode they moved slowly 
along by the Green Park. They still walked hand in 
hand; even now it didn’t seem safe to let go of each 
other. But when they came to the Quadriga, that 
symbol of victory significantly poised on the top of the 
park gates, which is much and justly admired, they 
stopped and gazed up. 


374 


THERE IS A TIDE 


They gazed up at the Quadriga by the royal light 
of the stars. Their hands were locked in each other’s. 
The eternal verities caught them suddenly. Mighty, 
mighty forces were flowing through and over, through 
and over, this brief and transient, this pitifully brief 
and transient, life of man. 

“Elmer!” It was Marne’s voice, but hardly more 
than a whisper, it was so solemn and so hushed. 
“Imagine, Elmer, you and me—” 

But Elmer said nothing. With a queer tightening 
of the breast he continued to gaze upwards to the 
symbol of victory on the top of the park gates. 

(i) 


THE END 


































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